


Obstructed View

by AlynnaStrong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Road Trips, Slow Burn, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 65
Words: 173,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Canon Divergence exploring Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth meeting much earlier in the timeline and without her having obligations to House Stark.It’s the roadtrip that keeps on going until they’ve covered the entire Seven Kingdoms!





	1. Renly's Camp

**Author's Note:**

> The first section relies heavily on _Clash of Kings_ , chapter 33 (Catelyn). I will condense & quote Martin’s work for **5 paragraphs** with one small _(italicized)_ addition that makes all the difference. From then on, it’s my writing, though of course I own nothing.

Within Renly’s pavilion, Catelyn found Brienne armoring the king for battle. “I must speak with you, Your Grace,” she said, granting him a king’s style for once, anything to make him heed her.

“Say your say, Lady Stark,” Renly said. Brienne swept his cloak over his broad shoulders. It was cloth-of-gold, heavy with the crowned stag of Baratheon picked out in flakes of jet.

“I beg you, my lord, grant me leave to go to your brother Stannis and tell him what I suspect. Robb will set aside his crown if you and your brother will do the same. Let the three of you call for a Great Council, such as the realm has not seen for a hundred years. We will send to Winterfell, so Bran may tell his tale and all men may know the Lannisters for the true usurpers. Let the assembled lords of the Seven Kingdoms choose who shall rule them.”

Renly laughed. “Tell me, my lady, do direwolves vote on who should lead the pack?” Brienne brought the king’s gauntlets and greathelm, crowned with golden antlers that would add a foot and a half to his height. “The time for talk is done. Now we see who is stronger.”

 _Catelyn fell to her knees before Renly, eyes lowered to the ground._ “I beg you in the name of the Mother,” Catelyn began when a sudden gust of wind flung open the door of the tent. She heard Renly begin a jest, then make a small thick gasp.

When Catelyn looked up, blood gushed from the king's throat.

“Your Gr—no!” cried Brienne. She caught her king as he fell. Seemingly stunned at what she had done, she allowed herself to become covered in his blood. She threw back her head and let out an inhuman howl of grief. Catelyn could have sworn the girl was in love with him. Perhaps touching him had been too much for her -- homely as she was and him newly married –- she had decided if she couldn’t have him no one would.

Catelyn scrambled backward. When she came to herself, the lady warrior’s obvious next move would be to eliminate the witness. She crashed into Sers Robar Royce and Emmon Cuy as they came bursting into the tent. Ser Emmon pushed Catelyn hard onto the ground in his haste to aid his king. Her prone form tripped up Ser Robar and he fell to his knees. The clash of his red enamel armor seemed to bring Brienne to her senses. She looked up to the horrified eyes of Lady Stark and the two Rainbow Knights.

“I – I did not – It was sorcery. Did you not see, Lady Stark, the shadow? The shadow with Stannis’s face?”

The girl’s eyes were so guileless and pure, Catelyn wanted to believe her. But there had been no one in the tent but the three of them. No sorcerer. Nothing that smelled of magic.

The stasis held for a stretched second, then Ser Emmon lunged forward with a long handled battle axe. “You’ll die for this,” he yelled as he swung a blow meant to take her head off.

“No!” Ser Robar shouted. “Take her alive for interrogation. We must know if this treason came from her own deranged mind or was commanded by another.”

Seeing she had no allies at hand, Brienne snatched Renly’s own sword from its scabbard to parry Emmon’s blows. She feinted an attack on Emmon, but at the last moment turned to slice through the green silk of the tent. Moving more quickly than a person her size could be expected, she dove out of the tent through the tear.

The knights gave chase, but Brienne’s lack of armor proved an advantage. Though her sprinting form attracted a great deal of attention within the camp, no one managed to seize her before she reached her horse. She mounted up and galloped away, with dozens of knights and men-at-arms in pursuit. Catelyn watched it all with solemn eyes. For Robb, Renly’s death was a tragedy. Most of Renly’s men would now be Stannis’s men, with little and less reason to ally with the King in the North.

 

Catelyn and her honor guard returned to Robb’s camp by a circuitous route. They needed to inform King Robb of what had transpired, however it would do more harm than good to be taken by a patrol along the way. Already, Renly’s host was fracturing, but there was no one who would pass up having the King in the North’s mother as a hostage.

When she arrived, she found that the rumors had outpaced her. She confirmed that the so-called King Renly was dead, killed by a member of his own King’s Guard. She was most surprised when Rickard Karstark nodded grimly and informed Catelyn, “We have her.”

“Brienne of Tarth? She’s here?”

“She was. Great beast of a woman. We caught her leading her horse through a stream; they both looked about done to death. We’d already had the raven from House Tyrell – they’re offering a fortune for her capture. She fought hard for her freedom, I’ll grant her that, but we took her.” Karstark reported his success with stolid satisfaction, though Catelyn thought she could detect a grudging respect for the captive.

“The King’s deciding what to do with her. The reward would be welcome – assuming you can trust the Tyrells – but politically it may be better to turn her over to someone else. I’d feel sorry for her if she wasn’t caterwauling about sorcery to everyone who passed by. And she’s got some lungs on her. We had to put her in the Riverrun dungeons to get any peace. Let Jaime Lannister put up with her. Ha! The Kingslayers. They deserve each other.”

 

Brienne couldn’t conceive how her dreams of glorious battle had shattered so suddenly. She had followed the man she loved – forever from afar certainly, but love just the same. She’d won the melee. She’d been Brienne the Blue. Then she’d…held him as his life’s blood soaked into her woolen tunic. Her heart broken, she’d looked for help and saw only hatred.

She hated herself as well, for her cowardice. Not for running from Renly’s pavilion; remaining there was certain death, she’d seen that in everyone’s eyes. She should have fled east instead of north, however. She should have ridden hard for Stannis’s camp and tried to take him unaware. Even dying in the attempt would have been more honorable that being captured by the Stark army, soon to be used as a bargaining chip in their war.

Adding insult to injury, now she was trapped in a dungeon with the most dishonorable knight in the kingdom, and he would not shut up.

He’d been somewhat polite at the beginning, asking if she was a huge boy or a strange-looking woman. She thought she'd seen him genuinely start when she'd given her name.

“A highborn lady in the dungeons of Riverrun? Do tell, my lady, what did you do?”

Brienne had been mostly ignored at Renly’s camp, so having someone listen to her was pleasantly distracting, even if she usually wasn’t much of a storyteller. It hadn’t taken him long to get her recent history out of her.

After that, Gods help her, she’d gotten his. Once he started talking, it was like trying to replug a gushing keg of beer. He didn’t seem to be able to help himself. If he was awake, his mouth was moving. He’d talked about battle and court life, which was fine; then grand stories of his valor with the King’s Guard, also fine. Stories about his sister kept weaving in, and that was disconcerting in light of what Lady Stark and King Renly had been discussing before…before.

When he’d talked himself dry about his brave deeds, his family’s accomplishments, and his sister’s beauty, he’d started in on Brienne. He mocked her appearance, her voice, her silence, and her virginity. He only roused her to anger by doubting her battle prowess, a fact he seemed to find amusing. “You really are a strange woman,” he’d said.

Brienne did her best to keep her mouth shut. Every time she opened it, she seemed to give him new lines of attack. She reminded herself that he was a bitter and frustrated man, unused to captivity, and unable to bear it well. Before she was there, he probably spent his time mocking the mice and fleas.

The only times when she couldn’t manage to keep her peace were when the guards would visit. Then, sometimes in spite of herself, she would try to convince them to believe her about the magic. She’d beg them to watch for witches and warlocks, for their own king’s sake if nothing else. She never got more of a reaction than a scoff but kept trying nonetheless. She suspected it was because she barely had her own mind around the idea of magic. If she could convince someone else to believe her, perhaps then she would feel asssured that there was nothing she could have done to save Renly.

 

One morning/evening (with no windows, it was hard to tell; they’d just been fed), after again futilely pleading with the guard, the Kingslayer asked her a civil question. “Now for a moment, one moment, let’s say I believe you about the sorcery. How do you plan to fight that?”

On her guard, she cautiously replied, “A sword goes through a sorcerer just as well as a soldier.”

“You think they’ll have no defenses? Just a series of wide open doors leading to Stannis and his magician?” Sarcasm again, Jaime couldn’t help himself. Watching his words bounce off her thick skull had that effect on him. He’d resolved to try to win the wench over today, having finally been able to predict the guard schedule.

“What concern is it of yours anyway?”

“I’m merely pointing out that you have no plan and apparently not brain enough to make one.” Damn it! He was out of practice, not that charming the charmless was ever easy.

“Stupid am I? At least I’m not so stupid as to end up chained to the wall.”

As much as the Kingslayer’s past acts disgusted her, he was pitiable in his current condition. His long imprisonment had clearly worn on his sanity, though he sounded more focused than usual at the moment.

“We should work together. Help me get free and I’ll help you with your revenge. I believe you when you say you’re the equal of any knight in Renly’s army. If we first go to King’s Landing – which is all but on the way to Stannis’s seat at Dragonstone – I will equip a force for you with a real chance of killing him. Remember, he’s my sister’s enemy too. She’ll have no peace until he’s dead, so I will make that my paramount mission when we return.”

She understood that this was not his usual idle babble. He was trying to be…nice? Truth be told she’d almost come to appreciate his constant tirade of insults. They distracted her from the ones in her head, which were so much worse.

“You do realize they’re going to kill you,” he continued, as she took too long to consider his proposal. “They’re just deciding whom to let do the honors. Once the Tyrell’s – Renly’s widow and her brother – learn you’re here, they’ll march on the camp, rest of the war be damned. You don’t have long.” He failed to mention that he didn’t have much longer either, from the anger he’d sensed since his escape attempt. Karstark had not forgiven the Whispering Woods and the sons he lost there.

Brienne relented. It did no harm to hear him out. “Have you given thought to a plan for escape?”

“I’ve thought of little else since they brought you here. What? You thought I was fantasizing about your ugly mouth on my member?”

How his crudeness still managed to shock a blush out of her, Brienne wasn’t sure. He had a rare talent for seeing another’s weaknesses. She started to realize how useful that could be.

“And?”

Seeing he had her on the hook, he pitched his voice lower to generate a sense of intimacy.

“You’re a woman. The guards will underestimate you no matter how big you are. No man, not even a piss-ant stationed to guard a dungeon, will think deep down that a woman can beat him in a fight. Find a weapon – the shitbucket if nothing else. Be ready; whenever they open the door next, you’ll have a chance for a surprise attack. With luck that will end it. If not, you’re strong enough.

“Now the next step is the most important. You don’t run. You carefully check the body. Take any weapons. Find the keys to these.” He rattled his chains. “If they’re not there, still don’t run. Go up the stairs. Kill anyone there. Quietly. Find the keys. Come back.”

“The second part is starting to seem needlessly complicated.” He had teased her so much for so long, and was being so very patronizing, she couldn’t resist stringing him along.

“The second part is the debt I will owe you,” Jaime struggled to keep his temper. She might be too stupid to pull this off, and the most complicated part involved a shitbucket. “If you don’t free me, Stannis will never meet the consequences of his evil deeds.”

That sobered her up. “Very well, but if I die, I hope the next cellmate they send you is deaf as a post.”

“So long as she’s not as ugly as one,” he retorted. Brilliant. We just agreed to a partnership, and we’re already fighting. There is no way this is going to work.


	2. Riverrun

The wench had managed to chip a palm-sized chunk of stone out of the wall of their prison. Jaime supposed her stubbornness was good for something at least. When they heard footsteps, she crouched behind the door, ready to attack.

It all went to hell right away. Instead of one leather-clad guard, his hands full of mealy bread and a water bucket, there were four, all wearing mail. They had come to retrieve one of the prisoners, clearly. Before Jaime could yell, ‘No, you idiot,’ she had smashed the lead guard on the side of his head with her stone. He went down hard, quite possibly dead. Unfortunately, he was only carrying keys, not a weapon.

The other three drew their swords and prepared to charge at her. Jaime took the only action he had available, kicking out and connecting with the shitbucket. It flew across the cell, splattering the two closest with vile filth before bouncing harmlessly away. It diverted one’s attention enough that Brienne could body slam him into the wall. They struggled for his sword, and she came out on top.

Jaime still thought she was outmatched. Even he, facing two armed men plus another unarmed would probably…well, he would fight, but she couldn’t be expected to hold to his standard. He thought she would stall, to somehow try to hold them off while getting his chains unlocked. Instead, she unleashed a whirling frenzy of attacks, taking on all three at once. It shouldn’t have worked; she was swinging blindly for the most part. At the end, however, two more were down and she was sword to sword with the last.

Jaime couldn’t believe their luck. She had her opponent’s full attention. If he would just back up a little bit more…there! Jaime swept his legs in an arc and knocked the man to his knees.

“Yield,” she demanded.

“Kill him!” Jaime yelled.

“I yield!” he said.

“Strip off your armor,” Brienne said, “and his as well,” she indicated the next largest man. She used the time to unlock Jaime’s chains. He savored his freedom, luxuriating in the ability to stand and stretch, at long last.

They donned the discarded armor and armed themselves with the guards’ weapons. Now they looked for all the world like Stark men-at-arms. As Brienne turned to leave, Jaime slashed the throat of each former guard.

“Does your dishonor know no bounds, Kingslayer? They were unarmed.”

“They were my enemies, and would have raised the alarm the second our backs were turned. Now, lock the door behind us. If we walk softly, we can made the stables before anyone knows there’s aught amiss.”

 

The rode east along River Road until they were out of sight of the castle, then diverted off the main road to avoid patrols. Jaime suggested they set out for Harrenhal, where his father held sway. As night approached, they saw a small village inn. Never in his life had Jaime wanted for pampering so badly.

“You took coin purses from the guards, right, Wench?”

“Yes, for essentials. And my name is Brienne.”

“Wonderful. I declare a bath and a hot meal to be essentials. Oh gods, and a bed to sleep on.”

“It would be safer to camp.”

“Safe is overpraised. Besides, turns out you can handle that sword. Between us, I have no fear of patrons in a rural inn.”

Not relishing a night of hunting game for dinner with cold ground to sleep on, Brienne allowed herself to be persuaded. The Kingslayer left it to her to get them rooms since she was less likely to be recognized. As it was a small establishment, she had to choose between beds in the common room at a stag apiece or a private room for six stags. Though the money was dear, she choose the private room for less exposure.

The Kingslayer finally earned a few points in her book by suggesting she bathe first. He even left her alone to do it, saying he’d bring them back a meal from the kitchen. The water was tepid and she barely fit in the tub. It would have felt like a bargain at twice the price.

 

Jaime felt so much better after a meal and a bath that he could almost believe his life was heading back on track. Soon enough, they would arrive at King’s Landing. He could lose himself in Cersei for a while and catch up on the progress of the war. He would help the wench, as promised, of course. Or perhaps pawn her off on Tyrion. He loved to draw up clever schemes. Now he’d finally have someone crazy enough to carry one out. Jaime was feeling quite jaunty when she said that they should probably turn in for the night.

“Well, come on then.” He patted a spot on the bed beside him. “You told the inn keeper we were married. Don’t try to get out of doing your wifely duty.” Her child-like blue eyes got so wide it was truly comical. He was joking, of course. After Cersei, all other women looked like…well, Brienne. And if he did touch her, Cersei would have her boiled in oil, provided they could find a pot big enough.

Her offense flamed across her cheeks. “I’ll not be known as the Kingslayer’s whore.”

Again, Kingslayer. Never Ser, or heavens forbid, Lord Jaime. Always Kingslayer. Her contempt was palpable.

“Oh I see. You’re waiting for the bonds of marriage to surrender your maidenhood. That will be a long wait, from the looks of you.”

“I desire no marriage. Especially not to you.”

Jaime could barely believe his ears. To be belittled in such a way by someone like her. His pride demanded that he put her in her place.

“So if I asked your father for your hand – not that I would – but if I did, you would have him say ‘no’?”

“Yes, and he would. He promised me.”

Jaime laughed scornfully. "There are perhaps three houses in the kingdoms that would turn down a marriage with the Lannisters, and yours is not one of them.”

She paled then gritted her teeth, failing to disguise her fury. After a moment she calmed and said, “Try it then. Go ahead, tomorrow morning find a scribe and send a raven. He will turn you down, you’ll see. Oaths mean something in our family.”

She wasn’t entirely sure, Jaime could tell, but willing to maintain the pretense to get her jab in. It was getting harder for Jaime to restrain himself. How dare she speak to him like this?

“A rare man, your father. Money means nothing to him, hmm? Nor position at court, nor power. Quite unlike any lord I’ve ever met. He must be overrun with other heirs then. Entirely secure that the next Evenstar will have no trouble carrying on the honor of your House.”

Her angry mask crumbled, replaced by concern. She’d never truly allowed herself to consider her father’s worries about the future of House Tarth.

Sensing weakness, Jaime pressed on, “Or is it the opposite? He’s a drunken spendthrift, accepting no responsibility for you or his House. You’re nothing but a burden to him. He’s just letting it all fall apart and who cares what happens after he’s gone?”

“No, he’s an honorable man. He cares very deeply-“

“It must be one or other. Either he’d accept a marriage ridiculously overbalanced to his advantage or he doesn’t concern himself with anything beyond his own interests.” Jaime could go on. He’d heard a version of this argument from the other side a number of times as Tywin had tried to convince him to abandon his appointment to the King’s Guard. He noticed the wench’s eyes filling with tears and couldn’t really remember why he was fighting with her in the first place.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she relented. “Please don’t ask.”

“Fine. Done. I’ll never ask for your hand. Easiest promise I ever made.”

“Thank you,” she said retreating to silence.

Now why did he have to go and do that? Somehow her mulish silence was worse than her scorn. After putting up with it for a few moments, he tried another tack. “Why don’t you want to marry? It works out every once in a while, or so I'm told. Is it because you don’t…favor men? I wouldn’t blame you. We’re terrible, rough beasts. Even a woman like you has soft skin, pretty…pretty soft anyway.” Gods, he’d almost said ‘pretty eyes’. He had been too long away from Cersei.

“I – no, that’s, no,” she replied flustered out of her sulking.

“Don’t like blondes?” he teased. She was kind of adorably teasable. Her lips started to curl. Was that almost a smile? That would be a first. “That’s right; I’d forgotten. You like strapping, black-headed fellows.” The fledgling smile vanished as if it was never there. Ah yes, she does not like to be teased about that.

“Come to bed. We’ll be as brother and sister, I swear.”

“Brother and brother,” she said, cautiously lying on the edge of the bed, facing away from him.

“As you like it, you strange wench. Just sleep.”

Jaime’s eyes snapped open a minute later. Had that been a joke?

 


	3. Harrenhal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Depictions of Violence. I'm not kidding.

They could see the hulking presence of Harrenhal with its five oversized towers from miles away. Jaime urged the wench to spur her horse to a faster pace. If they made the castle by dusk, he’d have time to greet his father and learn of recent events before dinner was cold.

As soon as they approached the gates, Jaime could tell something was amiss. There were far fewer Lannister banners than there should have been. The Harrenhal castellan, Amory Lorch, greeted him obsequiously and informed him that he’d missed his father by hours. Tywin had departed with most of the Lannister force to recapture parts of the Westerlands taken by the Stark forces. He had left only a hundred Lannister soldiers, supplemented with a like number from a mercenary company known as the Brave Companions, though most called them the Bloody Mummers. Their reputation was low and their loyalty notoriously fickle, but who could pay better than the Lannisters?

Jaime would have preferred to ride to his father and join the battle, but obligations and the call of Cersei held him back. A debt was a debt, and he’d promised to take the wench to King’s Landing and arrange a force to take Dragonstone. It was possibly the one way to stop her from mewling about her dead king. He’d tried telling her the truth about Renly, but it only got him a hard stare and an accusation of spreading foul rumors.

They settled in for dinner. Jaime left the wench to fend for herself while he was received warmly by the Lannister garrison. They were properly impressed at the stories of his daring raids of the Riverlands and how he had tried to carve his way to the Young Wolf in the Whispering Woods. The entire table volunteered to serve as an honor guard to safely escort him to King’s Landing. Jaime found two of the youngest and sent them out on swift horses to inform his father of his safe return.

Brienne had a quick meal and set out to explore the main areas of the huge castle. Something felt off to her. Everywhere she looked, there were rough men-at-arms wearing mismatched armor lurking while the Lannister men took their ease. She misliked sell swords in general; the idea of serving for coin rather than love or duty was foreign to her.

She joined Jaime at his table, hoping he could quell her concerns. “Brienne of Tarth,” he said warmly. Too warmly, and fake. He continued smiling but dropped his voice to a whisper. “I hope you have your sword handy. The Mummers are getting ready to betray my father and take me prisoner for some northern lord – I didn't overhear which. See how they surround us even now. That will not happen to me again.” There was a gleam of madness in his eyes as he watched lieutenant Urswych approach.

"You mustn't strike first. We have guest right. We can’t attack our hosts. There’s nothing more unchivalous,” she protested.

Urswych's hand fell onto Jaime's shoulder. “I suppose that is the most important thing, you stupid child. Far exceeding liberty, family, life and death.” In a sudden attack, Jaime plunged his meat fork deep into Urswych's eye and twisted. The man fell back, stone dead. A tumult erupted at the table. Lannister men, who were not as drunk as Brienne had feared, scrambled for their weapons. The Mummers did have them well surrounded, she noticed, and had their weapons at the ready.

The Kingslayer meant to fight to the death, it was clear. Brienne drew and joined in the melee to keep him from becoming mobbed. She soon witnessed that his reputation was justified; he truly was a brilliant fighter, even with his full strength yet to be recovered. The Lannister forces were also well trained, and together they gradually breached the Mummer's ranks.

They divided into smaller groups to root out any of the Mummers who were trying to slink away. Brienne was searching one of the kitchens when she heard a strange hiss. In the back of the room, a figure glared at her with undisguised malice. The man was unarmed, Brienne saw, but frightfully large. They were of a like height, but he more than twice her width. His doughy flesh was unnaturally white, and his eyes burned with a feral madness.

She hesitated only a second, but it was enough. The man-mound charged her, not stopping even as her sword pierced his side. He advanced on her until she was crushed against the wall. She could not pull back her sword to stab at him again, so she let loose of it and drew her dagger. She brought it up high, intending this time to aim for someplace he was sure to feel the wound, his eye for preference.

He caught her wrist as she sliced toward his face. He twisted it, and the dagger fell. Another twist splayed her fingers wide. He snarled and she could see teeth filed to points inside his stinking, tongueless mouth. His teeth clamped onto her index finger and he started to pull away. The pain didn't even register at first for Brienne as it was over-swamped by the horror of seeing her flesh stretch and tear. The snap of the bone breaking and the bright red spray of blood as it separated from her body brought only a startled grunt. Only when he started chewing and she saw her finger being reduced to meat and gristle did she scream, high and loud, sounding nothing like herself.

Another body must have crashed into his because suddenly the immense pressure withdrew and she could squirm away from the wall. She couldn't find her weapons. Something was wrong. The Kingslayer's voice penetrated through her mental fog. “Rally in the Hall of Hearths! Riders approaching!” She was borne along with the press of Lannister forces until the room opened up to a cavernous space; a hall larger than any she'd seen before, able to seat an entire army.

 

As far as Jaime could tell, the treacherous Brave Companions were all captured or defeated. It remained to be seen whether the entire company was involved in the plot, or if the second in command Urswych was being opportunistic. Something was amiss with the wench, though. Jaime had slain the monster who'd had her hard pressed and regrouped his forces. She was acting like a wounded bear, however, holding her right hand to her chest and swiping at anyone who came near with the left.

“Wench! Wench! Do you not see the battle’s at a lull? Rest a moment and let me have a look.”

She instead clutched her hand tighter and tried to cover it with the other. Stubborn, distrustful woman, Jaime thought. Having some experience tending to battle wounds, he put some wine on the hearth to boil.

“Let me see,” he growled in the voice he’d use to keep a green squire from breaking.

She slowly unfurled her limb and opened her hand. The right index finger was missing entirely, and the severing was not clean. Tissues and fragments of bone littered the wound, and she was still losing blood.

“Hold still, this will hurt,” he said.

Instead she made to draw it back. Jaime roughly grabbed her wrist.

“It’s your sword hand. Do you want to lose it? The wound will become corrupted if I don’t treat it.” He didn’t allow her time to reply, immediately pouring the boiling wine onto her injury. She groaned in pain, though no worse that most men would. The wound looked cleaner afterward, but the bleeding had increased.

“I suppose bandages are too much to hope for here. Your shirt will have to suffice.” Brienne looked down at herself in surprise. “Just a piece. I’d hate to unchivalrously distract our foes with your bounty.” He knew it wasn’t kind to mock her mannish frame, but her earlier remark was stuck under his skin like a barb.

In the end, Tywin Lannister's host arrived before Vargo Hoat's. Eager to see if his son was truly free from the Starks, he had pressed his riders hard. Hoat returned later with a large tail of Northern hostages. He managed to convince Lord Lannister that he had no hand in any treachery – how could he have anticipated Jaime would have been there to abduct? – thus sparing his life and those who had accompanied him raiding. The remainder of the Brave Companions knew no such mercy, and their heads soon lined Harrenhal's enormous ramparts.

 

Once his father had given him leave to depart for the evening (who knew the old lion had such sentiment in him?), Jaime found Brienne in the common room staring at her maimed hand. She seemed to be trying not to cry, not wanting to look womanly in front of anyone, he supposed. He escorted her to her bedchamber, which was generous as befitting her station and huge as was everything in this castle.

“I know it looks bad now, but it will get better.”

She sniffed and shook her head. “I can’t even make a fist. How can I hold a sword?”

Jaime knew something about impatience. “Of course you can’t yet! It’s too sore. It will feel better in a few days, then you can start learning to adjust your grip. Good thing your hands were already the size of dinner plates. It shouldn’t be a problem. I know many a knight who is down a finger or two. Among the Ironmen, it’s practically a hobby.”

“If I can’t kill Stannis, I’ll always be in a state of disgrace.”

“But if you’d listen, you’d see that you can. It will just take a little recovery.”

He sent for a cup of dreamwine to calm her and help her sleep. She drank but refused to cheer, and continued staring at her hand as if she could grow a new finger by wanting it enough. Jaime knew she’d feel better after a good night’s sleep, but right now she cut a pitiable figure even when tucked into a bed large enough for two of her.

Oh why not? She was miserable and had no one else. “Come here, little brother,” Jaime said, getting into her bed and curling his arm around her. Despite the drastic size difference, it did remind him of lying beside a young Tyrion when his poor twisted legs would cramp and keep him from sleep.

She cuddled into him for a moment, already muzzy from the dreamwine. Then she muttered, “You’re the little brother.”

“What?” Jaime chuckled.

“I’m taller.”

“I’m older,” Jaime insisted. “Honestly, don’t you know anything, you ridiculous girl?”

“I had a big brother. But he drowned.” She turned to gaze tenderly into Jaime’s eyes. “Don’t drown.”

Oh my, she is plastered, Jaime realized. For all her size, his real little brother could drink her under the table. He’d have to suggest that once they got to King’s Landing.

He didn’t mean to stay with her so much of the night, but every time she’d move in her sleep, she’d twitch or whimper and nearly wake herself. He ended up holding her arm still so at least one of them could rest. And she’d said he wasn’t chivalrous.

 

In the morning, Jaime met again with his father and Vargo Hoat. Hoat was still desperately trying to prove his allegiance to the Lannisters, so when Jaime mentioned he had an injured companion, Hoat offered his maester right away. The maester was a tall, grandfatherly seeming man called Qyburn. Jaime brought him to Brienne's room wondering how he fit in with the brutal Brave Companions.

Brienne was still downcast this morning and probably wanted to be left alone. However, Jaime needed reassurance that the wound wasn't going to fester. She had been fighting to keep him free, after all.

Qyburn greeted his patient with business-like pleasantries then said, “If you'll remove your breeches we can have this done most quickly and painlessly.”

Brienne looked ready to bolt. Jaime's hand was on his sword in the blink of an eye. “There is nothing below the young lady's waist that wants examination. It's her hand you're to attend. Are you even a maester? Where is your chain?” The rising outrage in Jaime's voice would have quailed most men, but Qyburn was undisturbed.

“The Citadel took my chain, my Lord but they could not take the knowledge. I do apologize. When Vargo Hoat sends me to examine a woman, there is only ever one reason. He was unlucky in love once, you see.” As no one seemed to be in a joking mood this morning, Qyburn proceeded to unwrap Brienne's hand. “Ah, that's healing nicely. Do you still have the finger?”

“No.” She swallowed her rising gorge. “It was eaten.”

“Ah. Pity. Though that does explain why Biter's head is in my morgue. I had wondered.” He cackled a laugh. “I can put a poultice on it to keep the corruption away, and a bit of sewing to make sure the wound doesn't reopen.”

“Very well,” Brienne said. Jaime gave a brisk nod but otherwise stood firm. He was not leaving her alone with a disgraced maester who'd already proven half a lecher.

“Would you like milk of the poppy? There will be some pain as I clean and sew.”

“No. Lord Lannister has other injured soldiers. Save the relief for those who need it more than me.”

Noble of the wench, Jaime had to admit. She really had fought well. He should have known; Renly couldn't have chosen her for her looks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on canon divergence: I would posit that preventing the fall of Harrenhal would make no difference in the War of the Five Kings. While it was a crucial part of Robb’s strategy to keep Tywin Lannister bottled up on the west, that strategy also depended on Edmure Tully not fucking up at Riverrun, which he is destined to do. Nor would it interfere with Arya Stark’s plot, whom we can assume escaped during the confusion.


	4. King's Landing I - Arrival

Lord Lannister had allowed twenty of his men-at-arms to escort Jaime down the King’s Road to King’s Landing. They had fair weather and made brisk time. Spirits were high as the soldiers felt assured they were in for a warm welcome to celebrate Jaime’s safe return. Even Brienne had become less dour, though still withdrawn. Jaime began to suspect that she was rather shy by nature, and the large group made her feel self-conscious. She often rode near the rear, away from the unwelcome attention of the others. It took a sort of bravery to know what the world was going to throw at her and go about her business anyway, Jaime thought. It didn't make her any easier to live with, but it explained a few things.

Qyburn had forbidden any swordplay during the trip. Though Jaime didn’t trust the man on much, his medical advice seemed to be worth following. The joint where her finger was severed had already healed over and the surrounding flesh returned to a healthy pink. He’d noticed her clutching the hilt of her sword already, as if to reassure herself that soon she’d be able to wield it again.

Jaime's heady confidence lasted until the city came into view, in particular the striking sight of the Red Keep. When he envisioned Brienne standing before Joffrey and, gods help them, Cersei, he rapidly grew concerned about the sort of problems his new companion may cause for them at court. He rode back to speak with her, trying to remind himself not to start verbally sparring right away.

“My lady, this is your first time in King’s Landing, is it not?”

“That’s right.” They had spoken little over the last few days, not that Brienne minded. She was of the present opinion that the Kingslayer was best taken in small doses. He had been especially difficult to stomach lately, surrounded by his squad of sycophants.

“We should discuss how to present yourself at court.”

“I know my manners, I assure you.”

“You may know how to use utensils and have a nice curtsy, but-“. She broke eye contact and frowned. Oh what now?

“I usually bow.”

It was clear; she was a punishment from the gods. Tyrion had always said he was arrogant. She was here to bring him down a notch. “Not in front of my sister you won’t! Not if you want to make a good impression. You’re already coming in under suspicion. You’re either a traitor to the crown for serving Renly or a wanted criminal for his murder. Either way, it’s only that you helped me escape the Starks that Cersei won’t have you arrested right away. Do you see?”

She nodded reluctantly. “I could kneel; pledge my services. It’s no lie to say I’d give my life to prevent Stannis from taking the throne.”

“Kneeling would be a good start, though it would be better with your father’s words behind it. You should write to him when we arrive. We can have you some court-worthy dresses made,” he ignored her fresh scowl, “but for the first day or two we’ll have to take what we can find.” Jaime gave up on any of the more advanced lessons he’d hoped to get across. The particular personalities she was going to encounter, topics of conversion to trend lightly upon, never mind all that. Just getting her through a royal introduction was going to be excruciating enough.

 

Brienne had expected to be ushered into the royal court with the urgency of messengers delivering vital information, but that was not the manner in which King’s Landing operated. For days ahead of time, Jaime had been composing messages that spelled out their recent events and their needs. The first missives were ridden in by messengers, who returned with crates of ravens. As they drew nearer, the letters became more frequent. The Kingslayer could often be heard cursing as he wrote until his hand cramped. By the time they officially arrived, everyone knew all they had to report. Their actually being there was a mere formality.

Thus on arrival, Jaime and Brienne were allowed most of the day to make themselves presentable. The difference in Jaime, after a trip to the barber and donning his King’s Guard uniform, was night and day. In his white cloak, with beard shorn and hair tidy, he looked like a storybook picture of a knight. To Brienne, he seemed regal, but also aloof. Unquestionably, he was back where he belonged. She felt an unexpected ache at the knowledge that he would no longer be traveling through the countryside with the likes of her. She could do without his mouth and his questionable morals, but he had been comforting sometimes and even kind. 'Confusing' seemed to be the best word for him, and she had an important mission. Confusion shouldn't be welcome.

Brienne’s appearance didn’t change as much, but there was what most other than herself would call improvement. A dress had been waiting for her. It was simple, clearly sewn in mere hours, but modest and correctly proportioned. The shade of blue even favored her coloring, and the girl from the tailor’s promised that she could embroider some nice designs along the neck and sleeves given more time. Brienne said not to trouble herself, but she didn't think the girl was going to heed her.

Being presented to the Queen was such a terrifying proposition that Brienne was surprised how painlessly it passed. Her curtsy still had some bow left in, but drew no comments. Jaime was charming and complimentary, saying that she was the reason he had escaped safely instead of feeding the crows at Riverrun. Queen Cersei thanked her sincerely and offered help in her future endeavors. Brienne only had to say that she was pleased to be of service. Jaime looked at her and winked. Then it was over, and Jaime asked one of the gold cloaks to escort Lady Brienne to her rooms. “Finish unpacking; I’ll come visit in a bit,” he promised.

 

The throne room’s door had barely shut before Cersei, with an incredulous laugh asked, “What was that?”

"Why, a highborn lady of the Stormlands, of course.”

Cersei shook her head in amazement. “Highborn, honestly? Her father must have really wanted a son. Or he didn’t care about her at all.”

Jaime pretended to laugh at that. She hardly ever talked about herself, and he could still tell how dearly she regarded her father. He wondered if having a father willing to consider his child’s wishes would have been preferable to Tywin’s style. ‘Indulgent’ seemed to have reached its maximum expression in Selwyn Tarth, but still, it might have been nice.

“In all fairness, I can’t imagine her having any skill for embroidery,” Jaime said.

“Or high harp. Singing. Dancing,” Cersei chortled. Jaime felt that may be uncharitable, especially dancing. She moved rather well considering her size. He didn’t feel it was worth countering Cersei though.

“Perhaps we've found a bride for Ser Gregor,” Cersei added. That was a step too far for Jaime. The Mountain's brutality toward woman was well known.

“I was thinking Tyrion,” he rejoined. “Then the children would be normal-sized.” He figured getting in a dig at their younger brother would mollify Cersei. She may be testing me, Jaime thought. He'd never been alone with another woman for an extended period of time. A little curiosity or even jealousy wasn't beyond the pale.

“Are you sure she's not really a man? I didn't notice many womenly attributes. Or perhaps she favors women. There's something odd about her, I’m sure of it.”

“I don't care if she fancies men, women, or horses. As you should well know, she's not to my taste.” With a glance to make sure the door was fully shut, he closed the distance on Cersei. He hadn't been much enjoying their conversation, and this was far preferable. His mouth melted against his sister’s. Urgency and tenderness were at war within him. Those who called their relationship unnatural didn’t understand – it was the separation that was unnatural. Rejoining felt like the most rational thing in the world.

 

Brienne had changed into breeches and a tunic by the time Jaime came by to collect her. She didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed, just obstinate. “Well, I suppose this is to be your first war council; you may as well be dressed for it. Come, I’ll introduce you to my brother. With any luck, he’ll figure out how not to get you killed.”

She followed Jaime through the unfamiliar passages of the Red Keep to the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion was waiting for them near a table so stacked with books and parchments she couldn’t see its surface. She watched the brothers embrace with a warmth she hadn’t expected.

“Tyrion, this is Brienne of Tarth, formerly of Renly’s Baratheon’s Rainbow Knights. Brienne has come seeking vengeance against Stannis Baratheon for the murder of his brother. Since she did me the small favor of saving my life, I agreed to help her.”

Brienne bowed low to Tyrion.

“Curtsy,” Jaime growled under his breath. He sighed and made to ruffle her hair, pulling back at the last moment. “She’s not much of a lady, but she won a melee against a hundred-some knights and is quite an impressive swordsman, pardon, woman. Tyrion’s the cleverest mind in the kingdom, though up until recently he’d left it to me to do the fighting. Then I come back after a brief sojourn in the Riverlands to find him leading mountain clansmen to war. You’ve got to leave me with something, Brother.”

“We could trade. You do the drinking and the wenching… no, I take it back. I don’t want to trade. The fields of glory are all yours again.”

Brienne liked seeing Jaime’s genuine smile. He turned to her. “You two put your heads together and see what you come up with this evening. Tomorrow, if the maester approves, we’ll resume your training. For now, I hope you’ll excuse me. I need to see what has become of my King’s Guard in my absence.” He practically swaggered as he left. Returning to King's Landing had lightened his burdens, even as it put him in the thick of the war again. Perhaps because it had; watching idly from prison had nearly driven him mad.

Tyrion gave Brienne a quizzical look. “He’s teaching you to fight?”

“Not exactly. I was injured,” she splayed her remaining fingers. “He’s helping me adjust to it.”

Tyrion nodded. “He likes you.”

Brienne’s stomach flipped. He didn’t mean it like that, of course, and hopefully he didn’t think she had any such fantasies. Because she certainly didn’t; not for the Kingslayer. “I doubt it. He’s teased and mocked me across half the Riverlands.”

“Well, that’s part of it, yes. He teases those he cares for…and those he doesn’t, but there’s a different flavor to it. Also, he complemented your swordsmanship. I can count – YOU can count – on one hand the number of people he’s deemed worthy to train personally. He doesn’t take much seriously, but sword work has always been an exception.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and tried again. She was so unaccustomed to praise that her mind was drawing a blank. “He’s not what I thought,” she said into the silence. “He’s fulfilling his promise and then some. His word still means something to him. How could he have fallen so far from his vows then that he could kill his king?”

“The Kingslayer should have a monstrous appearance and not be able to cross the street without kicking a toddler?” Tyrion waved off her protests. “Believe me, it’s nothing he’s not heard before. I truly do not know all that went on those 17 years ago. However, think on this, my lady. King Aerys was mad, undeniably stark raving mad. Serving under a mad king makes it difficult to honor all vows. I know he distrusted our father at the end – not entirely unjustly, I must admit. What if he asked for his head?

“Let me put it this way. You were sworn to Renly. What would you have done if he ordered you to bring him peasant girls to rape? I know you trusted that he would not; but what if he did? You’re sworn to protect the innocent and sworn to obey your king. What do you do?

“I have a lot of faith in my brother. I believe he must have had a reason. And this is something I don’t think enough people consider: why did you think he did it? Glory? Power? You can see he did not claim the throne or make any demands. He wasn't even assured of a pardon from Robert. All he got was a tarnished reputation, and still, he doesn’t hide from it. He acts as if his conscience is clear. He may have somewhat lost his way, but he’s not irredeemable. Perhaps he only needs the right cause to help him find it again.”

“Do you mean keeping Stannis from the throne?”

“Something like that, yes,” Tyrion said, regarding Brienne with a curious expression.


	5. King's Landing II - Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highly inadvisable practices regarding alcohol.

“Keep your guard up or I’m going to slice off your nose.” They only had tourney swords, but it was useful to pretend the stakes were real. Jaime had feared Brienne was going to take the training too lightly at first. She had looked as happy as a child at a festival when Pycelle had deemed her hand well enough to wield a sword. Jaime might have had trouble recognizing her with that wide open smile, had her messy hair not been brushing the top of the doorframe.

Jaime had been less than pleased with Pycelle in that moment. ‘Remove your shirt to make sure the corruption hadn’t spread,’ indeed. Did women have to put up with that from every maester? No wonder witches and midwives stayed in business.

“You just don’t want me to attack. You’re tiring quickly.” She wasn’t wrong, godsdamn her. Jaime was starting to suspect that he had more recovery to do from his forced immobilization than she did from losing a finger.

“You do have plenty of arm strength, but let’s test your hands. Don’t let me disarm you.” He hit at her sword from a dazzling array of angles. Brienne could hardly believe the variety of attacks he had in his arsenal. The few times her sword did go flying, he helped her adjust her grip so it wouldn't happen again.

“This really works,” she held up the new gauntlet on her right hand. It had five fingers, but the index one was empty, connected to the tall one with rods above each joint. As a result, the fingers appeared to move in concert, giving her more support for her grip.

“As I said, you’re not the first knight to lose a finger. It’s a solved problem.” Jaime realized what he’d said a second too late. It was metaphorically true anyway. Cersei would have knighted any man in the kingdom who’d rescued him from the Starks. “Don’t forget to go to the armorer’s shop and get the rest adjusted. You want to have time to break it in before you leave.”

Tyrion had said that their plans for Dragonstone were developing well except for the magic aspect. Brienne was stubbornly insistent – why was that not a surprise? – that they do everything possible to prepare. Tyrion had ordered books from the Citadel on the topic, but didn’t truly expect much practical advice. If it existed, magic was a wild card that she was going to have to deal with as best she could.

“That reminds me, so long as you and Tyrion don’t have any business to discuss at the moment, please, if he challenges you to a drinking game, say yes.” Jaime’s cat-green eyes sparkled with mischief. He might as well have just said it was a trap.

“Whatever for? I don’t often indulge.”

“Because I’ve been composing a poem for him for his name day. I’d love to add a verse about how he defeated the giantess with his magic potions. It’ll make him laugh, trust me in this.”

“I’m not sure I care to be mocked in song.” Brienne was starting to smile, though, because she could almost believe that she would be part of the joke this time, rather than being the butt of it.

“Then don’t lose and I’ll have to think of something else. What? Don’t think you can beat a dwarf?” Jaime blinked innocently.

 

“So the rules are simple. One asks a question, the other must take one drink. To avoid answering the question, you can take a second drink. We go back and forth answering questions and having drinks until someone quits,” Tyrion explained as he filled a set of small glasses with strongwine.

“The winner is the last to quit?” Brienne asked. If they were doing this she may as well do it properly.

“I’d argue this is a game where everyone wins, but sure if you want to be competitive about it. Do you want the first question or the first drink?”

“I’ll ask first,” Brienne said.

“Ooh, terrible choice. Strategic, but terrible.” Tyrion wasn’t sure what Jaime was playing at, suggesting he challenge Brienne to such a contest. Knowing Jaime, he either expected her to give him a real test or knew she was a lightweight. It would be amusing either way, he supposed.

Brienne was hoping to learn more about Tyrion and his past with Jaime from this little experiment. He talked about himself almost as little as she did. “Jaime says you’re the cleverest man he knows. Did you ever think of being a maester?”

“Not bad, but watch the yes or no questions. Too easy to give an unenlightening answer.” Tyrion drank his first shot. “Yes, I considered it, up until I found out about the requirements…celibacy, service, and so on. Then I decided it wasn’t for me.”

For his part, Tyrion wanted to find out more about Brienne’s mental stability. She was young and had been through a lot recently. They couldn’t very well trust her with a mission of such importance if she wasn’t all there. “What went through your mind when you saw Jaime for the first time?”

Brienne took her first drink. It burned all the way down. “Oh gods, it wasn’t nice. He’d been chained in a dungeon for quite some time. I don’t remember exactly but probably something like: the poor man, or is he alive? I didn’t recognize him right away.”

“What was Jaime like as a boy? Was he a good big brother?”

She’d started to blush after asking that. Of course, she blushed a lot, but it still seemed an odd response to accompany an innocent question. “About what you’d expect. Vigorous, energetic, impatient, handsome, even then. Everything was swords and battle. He was a good big brother, yes, even though our interests were always different. He’s not much of a scholar; he had trouble with his letters. If you think he’s stupid though, he’s not.”

“I don’t.”

 _Hmm, she’s reflexively loyal; that’s useful to know._ “Why aren’t you married?”

“I’ve never been able to keep an engagement. I’ve had three. Finally, I convinced my father to stop trying.”

“A bit tight with your words there, but fair answer.” No woman had three broken engagements without three corresponding upsetting stories. Tyrion couldn’t blame her for not wanting to rehash them all during a game.

“Do you believe me about Stannis using sorcery?”

“I believe you believe it. You never lie, as far as I can tell. I don’t have any other explanation.” Tyrion sighed and rubbed his temples. “It’s very hard, though, to believe in what must be taken on faith. Harder still to plan against it. I’m trying my best to understand it; that’s a promise.”

“Jaime has a fondness for nicknames. Has he come up with any for you?” Tyrion had been trying to lighten the mood; it was surprising that her blush deepened.

“He calls me Wench most of the time; Little Brother when he’s feeling particularly gentle.” Tyrion had to look away on hearing that. Her eyes were so expressive, and with the rest of her face so plain, it was hard not gaze deeply into them. Big brother/little brother, yes he supposed that could be the dynamic they had.

“I suppose Brother is better than Sister," he rejoined as he refilled their glasses.

“That’s what I said!” Her demeanor was starting to relax; she wouldn’t have blurted that out earlier.

“So you know.”

“Is it true? I can’t say I know anything, but everyone’s heard the rumors. They’re from Stannis though, so I’m sure they can’t be trusted.”

“You need to stop thinking so black and white. Just because Stannis says it doesn’t make it false, or true if you hear from our family. Think critically.”

"That didn’t answer my question. Is it true?”

Tyrion pointedly took two drinks, and changed the subject. “Were you in love with Renly?”

Brienne considered taking two drinks as well, but she knew her feelings were hard to hide. If Jaime had guessed sight unseen, surely his cleverer brother had as well. “Yes, of course. He was the kindest man I’ve even known, excepting my father. I don’t know how anyone could fail to love him or, or…could hurt him.”

She cleared her throat, trying to chase away the maudlin feelings. “Is it hard being a dwarf?” That was probably impertinent, but her head was starting to swim and words weren’t coming as easily as they had before.

~~~

 

"How did your drinking game go?” Jaime pulled off his gloves and flexed his hands and arms. They were honest-to-the-gods still sore from the training yard. That woman hit like a mule’s kick.

"I remain undefeated. Honestly, I could have gone strongwine versus wine with her. You should have mentioned she was so inexperienced.”

"Nothing untoward happened, I hope.” Inexperienced had been a odd choice of words. But surely he could trust his brother.

"I kissed her towards the end. It wasn’t strictly how the game was supposed to go, but she asked, and I think she was rather too drunk to keep track of the rules.”

"I hope to the gods that’s all you did!” His sudden vehemence took Tyrion off guard. He regarded Jaime with a sharp look.

"Of course,” he replied cautiously.

"It’s just that, I’m sure you got a look at her before you started drinking. I’d hate for Father to have to arrange an extremely awkward marriage. Hilarious, but awkward.” Jaime seemed to be struggling to regain his composure after his sudden outburst.

"Oh, she’s hideous,” Tyrion probed.

"Right? Barely a woman at all. You should see her after a hard combat. She sweats like a mare in heat. Her hair stands up in spikes and she doesn’t even notice. And all those freckles. Everywhere probably.”

"She’s like a fellow soldier you don’t have to feel guilty wanting to bury your cock into.”

"Don’t be disgusting. Show some respect. And what did you get up to with those clansmen?”

"Sorry. Tell me more about how repulsive you find her. Seems like you’ve given it a lot of consideration.”

"I barely think about her at all, but I do feel responsible for her; she’s an innocent at court. A minnow among the sharks.”

"A lamb among the lions. Don’t worry brother, knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t kiss her again if my life depended on it.”

 

Dark wings, dark words. The raven had come in the still of the night. The message had passed from Pycelle’s assistant to Pycelle to Queen Cersei with no regard for the lateness of the hour. Once she received it, she knew sleep was done for the night. Her only thought was to find Jaime and take what comfort she could from him.

Instead she was affronted by the sight of Jaime’s albatross stalking around the hallways in her nightgown. She was dressed as modestly as a septa, but still, what was she up to?

“What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” Cersei demanded.

Brienne turned, startled, to face her queen. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake Your Grace. I’m afraid I was drinking with your brother earlier and overdid it. I dozed through dinner and now I can’t seem to get any real sleep.” Belatedly, she tried one of her pathetic curtsies again, doing her best to keep Tyrion’s advice in the forefront of her mind.

“You were drinking with J-“ Cersei began hostilely, then realized, “no, with Tyrion.” Cersei relaxed and flashed a wry smile. “Well, that was stupid.”

“Yes, it was, Your Grace. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a headache. I have no idea how I got back to my room. Is there a guard large enough to … carry me?” she asked, red-faced and meek.

“I can think of two.” Though if she’d woken up un-raped, it was probably the younger Clegane. “Come to my rooms. A taste of what ails you will help.” Cersei was feeling like a drink herself, and there was something charmingly vulnerable about the big girl in her nightgown. Gods, she really was huge. She hadn’t gotten a proper sense of it in the throne room, but standing next to her, Cersei was dwarfed. She was around Robert’s size, but appealingly submissive.

“If I may ask, why is Your Grace awake at this hour?”

They reached Cersei’s chamber. She ushered Brienne through and shut the door behind them.

“You may as well know; it does concern you. They awoke me in the middle of the night with an urgent message. Stannis’ army has returned to Storm's End. His fleet gathers there now, preparing to sail. They could be here in under a week. There’s no point of sending you to him if he’s coming here.” Cersei sighed wearily as she sat at her table. “Be a dear and pour us some wine.”

Wine was the last thing Brienne wanted at the moment, but she didn’t see a way to refuse. Tyrion had been clear that Cersei had close to total control of King’s Landing. Upsetting her in even the slightest matter could lead to disaster. For Brienne, who often felt like she upset people just by existing, this was nerve wracking. All she wanted to do was get away without giving offense.

 _She’s so nervous her hands are shaking._ She hadn’t seemed so intimidated before. Cersei considered how intently the girl was watching her. _Perhaps it’s because I was more dressed before. She favors women. Obvious really._ Cersei gently apprehended Brienne’s hand and stroked the joint of her missing finger. From the pulse she could see beating in her neck, Cersei could tell the girl was becoming quite excited. _Could someone so large really be this easy to control?_

“I’m sorry, my sweet, I forgot about your hand. Let me.” She finished pouring the wine and held out a goblet for Brienne, trapping her wide blue eyes with her green ones.

Brienne was terrified. How had she ended up doing exactly the opposite of what she’d intended? She’d been trying to be so deferential that Cersei would think she was beneath her notice. Instead, she’d ended up in the queen’s bedroom, and if she wasn't much mistaken, Cersei was considering taking liberties with her. This was not in any way what Tyrion had advised! She alternately sipped and gulped her wine, torn between not wanting to become drunk and wanting to finish, giving her an excuse to leave. At least her headache started to go away after a while.

When their glasses were empty, Cersei stepped closer and ran her fingers up Brienne’s neck and through her short hair. She felt the younger woman shudder under her touch. _Poor thing, if you make your passions so obvious, people will manipulate you with them._

“Perhaps you would sleep better in here for the rest of the night.”

“The sun’s coming up,” Brienne said in a choked whisper. _Thank the sweet Maiden! I will never miss another Maiden’s Day, I swear it,_ she silently prayed.

“So it is.”

They sat quietly watching a sunrise of majestic pinks, purples, and oranges, holding hands and thinking along very different lines. Brienne wondered how she’d managed to accidentally flirt with two Lannister siblings in a single day. Cersei happily decided that the silly girl could be trusted. She’d do anything to please.

 

~~~

“Is it hard being a dwarf?” That was probably impertinent, but her head was starting to swim and words weren’t coming as easily as they had before.

"It is, but there are hidden advantages. People constantly underestimate me, they forget I’m in the room, they think I’m stupid. Tell me this isn’t sounding familiar.

“Why didn’t you leave Jaime in Riverrun? Why did you help the Kingslayer?” She still occasionally slipped and called Jaime ‘Kingslayer’. Obviously his dishonor bothered her. On the other hand, they had a warm, comradely relationship from what he could tell.

“Escape was his idea. I would have just sat there and waited to die. Helping him gave me a purpose; something to do other than mourn. In truth, he saved me as much as I did him.” Brienne felt lighter getting that off her chest. So light she could float out of the window and into the clouds.

It was getting hard to think of questions. She rather wanted to just lean back and smile. She’d never been this drunk before and was finding it quite pleasant. “Do you have any advice about how to handle myself in King’s Landing?” That was nice and open-ended. He could talk for a while.

Tyrion had thought she was almost out, but that was a surprisingly apt question. "Watch what you say around everyone, especially my sweet sister. Don’t say a bad word about Jaime to her, but watch what good you say as well. She may be peculiarly sensitive to certain types of praise about him. What you most want to communicate is that you know your place. Do you understand?”

"Yes. Ha! That counts as your question!”

“Fine, so long as you actually do. You do not want to make her jealous.” He mumbled a quick aside that, “answers to this question can not be used to confirm the answers to other questions in a court of law,” gave her a sloppy smile and said, “Your turn then.”

She was warm and so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open. She knew she should resign but it was her turn. What did she want?

“Will you kiss me? I’ve never been kissed before.”

“Well, that’s enough of that. Hope you enjoyed playing.”

“You won’t?”

His lips were soft but firm, his mouth pressed against hers without being greedy. He opened slightly and she could taste him. The wine and the warmth mingled inside her and she found it a fully delightful experience. She went limp at the end, passing into unconsciousness. Not bad for a first kiss, Tyrion grinned.


	6. King's Landing III - Blackwater

Brienne turned on her heel and tried to change course to a different corridor, but it was no good. The queen had seen her.

“Brienne, attend me. I’d just send a maid to find you.”

She reluctantly turned once more and fell in behind her queen. Would they be braiding hair today, she wondered, or giving her opinions on Cersei’s dresses, or, her least favorite, drinking wine with Cersei and the other ladies of the court? She hadn’t been invited to spend the night again, which was a small mercy, but everyone knew Cersei never slept alone so it was only a matter of time.

They traveled through passages Brienne was beginning to learn. This wasn’t the way to the living quarters, but rather the small council chamber. Brienne took a closer look at the queen’s face and regretted her earlier selfish thoughts. Plainly, the time for frivolity had passed; Stannis was approaching her doorstep.

Inside the chamber, Jaime waited for them dressed in full Lord Commander regalia. Tyrion, Pycelle, Varys, and the others were already seated. Tyrion began, “Scouts report an army has been spotted erecting tents on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush. Banners of the fiery heart stag are prominent, as are those of Houses Florent and Fossaway, known bannermen of Stannis. Without a doubt, this is Stannis’ vanguard, camping in anticipation of the main fleet’s arrival from Storm’s End. We estimate Stannis has 200 ships to our 50 and ten times the soldiers.

“The defense that pyromancer Hallyne and myself have concocted has a good chance of disabling Stannis' forces from the sea. However it would be naïve to fail to prepare the city. The trebuchets under construction at the Mud Gate will help, as will the clansmen I sent to harass their baggage train.”

“Those King’s Guard not protecting His Grace should lead sorties against the troops when they cross to the north bank,” Jaime said. “The Queen and the highborn ladies and children should be secreted in Maegor’s holdfast, where they’ll be safest.”

“We will need some protection even there,” Cersei objected. “In case the worst happens.”

Brienne felt desperation seize her. She was both a highborn lady and a protector. The queen meant to keep her with the women, away from the battle, from Stannis.

“Ser Ilyn Payne?” Tyrion suggested.

“Just the man I had in mind,” Cersei replied with determination. Brienne turned to her in frank surprise. “You’ll serve us best on the field of battle,” she said to Brienne who smiled gratefully in reply. The girl could kill men, Jaime had said, but Cersei could sense she’d be useless for duty in the holdfast.

 

This was not warfare, but madness made of fire. The emerald flames towered forty feet high in places. Countless ships burned, both royal and rebel. Men’s screams filled the air as they melted, and pleas to the gods rose from both sides. Tyrion’s boom chain had trapped nearly all of Stannis’ ships in the harbor where they were at the mercy of the wildfire and the barrels of flaming pitch from the trebuchets. Still, eight ships from the front line had managed to make the north shore and discharge their soldiers.

Brienne, Jaime and the members of the King’s Guard who were present in King’s Landing, led waves of sorties against Stannis’ men as they disembarked. If they were allowed to form up, the shield men and the archers could protect one another all the way to the Mud Gate. Unorganized, they were no match for the mounted knights, who swept through their ranks as brutally as the wildfire destroyed their fleet. Eight ship’s worth of men were dispatched in swift fashion before the knights returned through the sally port for a respite.

Jaime had been pleased to see that the soft-spoken and insecure wench he was coming to know was nowhere to be found on the battlefield. Combat brought out the beast in her; to hear her roar commands you would think her a natural leader. He was making her a lion again, he realized. His giant, female, little brother. He’d had passing concerns that her soldiers would scoff at following a woman, but she’d brooked no dissent. It helped that in plate and helm she looked as much a man as any of them.

“Have we won?” she asked, observing the field from arrow slits. No more of Stannis’ ships had landed men, and all the rest seemed to be hulks aflame in green.

“I’ll believe so when the south bank is deserted. Stannis and his main force remain there. They could still come across in rafts, and we’d be outnumbered.”

“They’d never make it in rafts.”

“Let’s not let our guard down. Form up your men; we’ll sweep the stragglers off the shore.”

“Hold, Uncle,” a high voice called. King Joffrey rode up, he and his horse covered in shining golden plate.

Brienne hastily knelt, to the sarcastic amusement of the disfigured King’s Guard who trailed behind. The right side of his face was a scarred ruin, his mouth forever drawn into a mocking snarl.

“Get up, you wit-less cocksucker. The king wishes to survey the battlefield.”

“That’s right,” said Joffrey addressing his remarks to Jaime. “You and Dog can be my honor guard. I’d like to give Hearteater a taste of some of those flaming hearts.”

 

The King’s squadron left through the gate, arranged into a wedge with Joffrey at the tip. However, Jaime and the Hound rode so near at either side that he was afforded a pocket of protection. Brienne rode to Jaime’s right, ever watchful for danger. The king swung his sword with wild abandon as they approached the river. Brienne saw him solidly connect with someone, hopefully one of Stannis’, causing him to cackle and demand immediate praise from Jaime.

Suddenly, the barrels of flaming pitch began to fly from the trebuchets again. Brienne looked out into the harbor, and was horrified to see a wave of knights fast approaching across the water. She didn’t understand how it could be at first, but eventually she saw that the ships had crashed together on Tyrion’s chain so solidly that they formed a make-shift bridge. The soldiers were taking their only chance and leaping from one flaming wreck to another to make their way to shore. There were hundreds coming already, with untold multitudes more on their way.

“Retreat!” she yelled. “Get the king to safety!”

A barrel of pitch landed close nearby. None of the party was injured, but the horses reared. Jaime landed hard on his back and lay stunned. Joffrey was also unhorsed, but pulled himself to his feet right away. Brienne jumped down to yank Jaime’s head out of the muck.

“Help me with him,” she demanded of the Hound.

“Carry him yourself. You’re a big enough bitch.”

“Just help me lie him over my horse.”

“Bugger him, and bugger you.” The Hound’s eyes shone with reflected flame. He muscled his stallion around and dug in his heels. The black courser took off at a gallop away from the battle and the city gates and into the darkness.

“Dog! Dog, you get back here!” the king yelled.

"Never mind him, Your Grace. We must get you back inside the walls,” Brienne said.

She helped Joffrey mount up and sent him ahead with two of the other knights. Jaime was heavier than he looked – was his armor solid gold? – but with the help of another knight, she got him situated on the back of her horse. They all then rode like mad for the walls, Stannis’ soldiers hot on their heels.

The crossbowmen felled dozens of Stannis’ knights as they approached the Mud Gate, enough to buy time to lower the bar. The king joined his uncle Tyrion on the ramparts and set to directing the defense. By the cheers of the city guards, his presence was a boost to their morale. The city was large, though, and Brienne knew that a breach was only a matter of time. They would eventually have to fall back to the Red Keep.

Brienne dismounted to examine Jaime. He was breathing well, but showed no signs of rousing. Head wounds were dangerous and difficult to treat, she knew. She sent for a maester, not being optimistic about them having anyone to spare. When one arrived minutes later, puffing from a hard run, she reflected anew on the politics of King’s Landing. While the Baratheons ruled in name, the true power lay with the Lannisters, and everyone at court knew it.

Outside the walls, the battlefield was in confusion. A squad of Stannis’ heavy troops was setting up to ram the gates. His reinforcements had begun to arrive from the south shore, since defense of the river banks had been abandoned. However, there seemed to be contention in Stannis’ camp. Were they fighting amongst themselves, or had Lannister reinforcements arrived?

Brienne rallied the men remaining around the gate and lead them out to disperse the attackers manning the ram. These soldiers were better armored and trained than Stannis’ earlier forces. She lost herself in the battle, time seeming to stand still. It was as if she could see the attacks coming at half speed. She smashed through them like a force of nature, her troops mopping up behind her. When she finally came to herself, all the enemy were dead or dying and there was none threatening to try them.

Returning through the sally port, Brienne was pleased to hear Jaime’s voice. He was arguing with another of the King’s Guard.

“I’m sure you misunderstood. She said to bring him away from the field of battle, which he is. Removing King Joffrey from the ramparts to the holdfast would cause mass desertion among the guards. Unless you really think your queen wants the city to fall, you’ll cease this foolishness and get back to defending the city.”

The other man went off dissatisfied but unwilling to oppose his Lord Commander. Jaime turned to Brienne, “How does it look out there?”

“We’re at a lull, but it’s chaotic. Someone – your father’s men maybe – has joined the battle against Stannis’ ground forces on the south bank.”

“Good thing I fell off my bloody horse. Kept you from swimming across the river to get to Stannis, you daft wench.”

The thought had briefly crossed her mind. “There will be other days. You are well?”

“Good as new. Let’s go up and see if we can make out what’s happening across the river.”

They watched as Stannis’ forces were swept into full retreat. Brienne whispered a quiet “by the seven,” when Renly’s Ghost appeared. Brienne knew every inch of Renly’s armor. It was all there: antlered helm, cloth of gold cloak, green enameled breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves. She saw banners familiar from Renly’s camp as well, Tyrell and Tarly, the most prominent. She didn’t notice her tears falling as she prayed somehow it could be true.

 

The dawn broke over a throne room awash in the excesses of nobility. Jaime wore a fine crimson doublet with gold trim. He had cajoled, threatened, and finally frankly demanded that Brienne wear her most ornate new dress. She hadn’t liked to give in, but had to admit that he was right about her stubbornness getting in the way of good sense here. Everyone else was indeed dressed in their finest, even those packed into the high galleries.

The king personally rose to greet House Tyrell: Lord Mace, and his sons Garlan and Loras. It was Garlan the Gallant who had worn Renly’s armor and done much to disorient and scatter Stannis’ soldiers. “If there is any boon you desire, ask and it shall be yours,” Joffrey said.

Garlan Tyrell bowed low. “Your Grace, I have a maiden sister Margaery. She was wed to Renly Baratheon but the marriage was never consummated. She has come to love you from afar and I beseech you to take her hand in marriage.” After some discussion with the Queen and the High Septon, it was agreed that Joffrey would put Sansa Stark aside in favor of Margaery Tyrell. The Stark girl took the news bravely but with quiet devastation.

King Joffrey turned to Loras Tyrell. As a third son, Loras knew early that he should not expect to inherit the family title. He had been making his mark on the world through his deeds as a knight. All agreed that despite his tender age, he cut a handsome figure in his armor, and would look all the finer in the white of the King’s Guard should he request it.

“Do you have a boon to ask of me?” Joffrey inquired.

“Your Grace,” Loras said, “I ask only for the head of Brienne of Tarth, as just retribution for the murder of Renly Baratheon.”

 


	7. King's Landing IV - The Trial

A tumult arose in the throne room as Loras’ request filtered through. King Joffrey’s mouth fell open. Tyrion hadn’t said anything about this! The woman was a freak, but she’d fought bravely for him. She’d kept him safe when Dog had deserted and brought Uncle Jaime off the battlefield.

On the other hand, he had promised Loras any boon. There was certainly no hiding her. She was right up front, there to receive an reward for her service during the battle for the Blackwater. Tyrion had picked her out a nice little freehold near the sea.

“I did not kill Renly,” she said, her face darkening with rage. Those who knew her best counted Loras lucky that she wasn’t wearing her sword at the moment.

Queen Cersei stood, “Surely we must take such an accusation seriously, but we cannot sanction the idea of summary execution. The Lady must have her day at trial.”

“Yes, a trial!” Joffrey grasped onto the idea like a sinking man offered a life raft. “We must ensure justice is served with a proper trial. Of course. Arrest her and take her to a tower cell,” he ordered.

Brienne’s big blue eyes were full of equal measures hurt and anger, but she put up no resistance. The gold cloaks bundled her away to the confused murmurs of the crowd.

 

Tyrion was pleased to see that Brienne’s cell was indistinguishable from regular noble accommodations at the Red Keep, other than the two guards stationed at the foot of the stairs. She’d been provided every comfort, probably most notably for her, a change of clothes. She was wearing fresh men’s garb and writing a letter at her table when Tyrion entered.

“My lady, how are you?”

“As well as I can be, under the circumstances. Is there news of my trial?”

“It will begin tomorrow. The king will judge, along with my father and Lord Baelish.” This was tricky territory since Joffrey was unpredictable and Littlefinger would vote according to how the political winds were blowing. “You should not expect Loras’ case to be an easy one to refute. All of Highgarden’s forces are with him, and many of them saw you fleeing after Renly’s murder.”

“I know. There is no one else who saw what I saw. But it’s the truth.” Her guileless eyes met Tyrion’s, pleading for some way to prove her case.

“There is one matter I felt I should share with you.” Tyrion unfolded a written report. “It concerns how Stannis was able to muster his forces so quickly. We had assumed he’d be tied up with a siege at Storm’s End for weeks, months if we were fortunate. The castellan, Ser Penrose, was determined not to yield and had been stockpiling resources. Instead, the castle fell in 3 days. Ser Penrose is said to have committed suicide, seeing how his position was doomed in the long run.” Tyrion paused, not wanting to give her false hope but knowing she needed comfort in this dark hour. “However, quite a few are talking of sorcery.”

Brienne gasped, hearing confirmation of what she’d been trying to make them understand for so long. “Yes, you know what I’ve said all along about the sorcerer. He works with shadows that can move past any defense. I saw it. I-“

“My lady, just because some talk of sorcery doesn’t mean that many believe it. Most will reasonably conclude that the other person in the tent,” he gestured at her – “the giant with the sword – will have had something to do with it. Even if your trial was to be before three maesters of magic from the Citadel, I wouldn’t advise using that defense. It sounds desperate…and crazy.”

“But it’s all I have,” she whispered.

“A trial by ordeal, by combat, is still respected in the Kingdoms. Loras is a skilled knight, but any of the King’s Guard would be honored to be your champion, the Lord Commander most especially.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If my honor is at stake, I will defend it myself.” Of course, combat! Finally, something at which she excelled. She felt the weights lift from her shoulders. She could defeat Loras. She would prove her innocence before the gods and men. It was perfect.

“For anyone who matters here, your honor is clear. Don’t forget, the trial is for your life.”

“I thank you. My decision is made.”

Tyrion misliked her smile. She thought this was going to be easy. In King’s Landing, though, politics play a part even in duels. If Loras died, the city would riot. His father would not allow that to happen.

 

Jaime visited Brienne not long after Tyrion had left.

“Did you and Tyrion talk about the best strategy for the trial?”

“He advised requesting combat,” she said.

“You will, of course, allow me to be your champion.” Jaime knew there was no ‘of course’ about it, but sometimes confidence carried the day if the other person was distracted enough.

“I will not. I must fight my own battles, in this case especially.”

“Perhaps you’re too bull-headed to understand. Loras will try to avoid killing me. He’ll be fighting to wound and without the passion he’d bring to a bout against you.”

“I remind you, I beat him in our last fight. You did not.”

“It was a joust, and I took him too lightly. I will fight at my utmost for you,” he said.

“I believe you, and I thank you for your friendship, but no. This is something I must do on my own. However, there is one thing I would ask of you,” she continued hopeful that she could ensure her fondest desire no matter what happened.

“Anything.”

“If I die, carry on the fight against Stannis. For the King, and for me.”

“I will kill him. I vow it. Then I will dip his head in tar and pour your stupid, stubborn ashes over it. And then I-” Jaime started to wind himself into a good rant, but she cut him off.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Now, please leave me. You can help me most by supporting me at the trial tomorrow.”

Cersei tried to pass Jaime on the stairs to visit Brienne. She was feeling unfamiliar pangs of conscience. She’d taken every opportunity to mock the girl and play with her feelings during the past week. It had been startling to discover how much she missed her presence in the holdfast. Having someone honest and reliable at your side was comforting; flattering hens were a clipped copper a dozen. Brienne had also protected her son and saved Jaime for her, again. She was simply too useful to serve up for the satisfaction of a Tyrell.

“Don’t bother,” Jaime said. “She won’t listen. Stubborn as a mule but only half as pretty.”

“I’ll order her to take a champion. Even you; he’d dare not kill you.”

“You can’t order…” Jaime trailed off. The twins’ matching eyes met.

 

“Where is the accused?” Tywin Lannister asked, genuinely concerned. The city was volatile at the moment, and he had been hoping the trial would settle everyone down. If Brienne of Tarth had disappeared, the Tyrells would withdraw their support. The incoming food supplies from Highgarden would stop, and then riots would quickly start to bloom.

“Lady Brienne has requested trial by combat and named Ser Jaime Lannister to act as her champion,” Queen Cersei said, her confident voice ringing out without a tremble. She emphasized the word ‘Lady’, as no one would expect a woman to fight in her own stead. (No one who hadn’t seen her fight, anyway). Jaime stood, armored and ready for battle.

“Bring the coward forth and let her say so to my face,” Loras demanded, hot with frustration. He had imagined Renly’s killer in the place of every man he’d cut down during the battle.

“Lady Brienne has gone into seclusion to pray,” Cersei replied, with a meaningful glance at the new High Septon. He owed his position to House Lannister. He’d better realize that meant he didn’t get to contradict her.

Tywin swept his gaze over his children. They were assuredly hiding something. “Tyrion, what do you know of this,” he asked his least favorite, who also was least likely to conspire with Cersei.

“Lady Brienne, I believe, felt fatigued from her long hours fighting in defense of the city,” Tyrion said, making sure his voice carried to the high galleries. “Unlike the Highgarden forces who arrived only for the tail end, she had led sorties since dawn.” He was sweeping by the fact that his brother had done so as well, with only a short break for a concussion.

“Well, get on with it then,” King Joffrey said. “Let’s have a trial!” His eyes gleamed with eagerness. He had thought himself unlucky to be forced to preside over a boring trial with its endless witnesses and recounting of uninteresting facts. Instead he got to see Uncle Jaime’s rematch with the runner-up from the Hand’s tourney. It should be a good fight.

“Ser Loras, I hope you will do me the honor of using my family’s ancestral blade, Heartsbane, in your fight today.” Lord Tarly offered the Valyrian steel greatsword with grave ceremony.

“No, though I thank you,” said Loras, realizing that such a weapon would give him an unsporting advantage. Perhaps had it been against an accused criminal, the circumstances would have allowed it, but against the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard, the Queen’s brother, it would not be well received. Besides, he was quite sure he could beat the aging Jaime Lannister without it.

 

Jaime and Loras squared off. Both wore fine suits of plate armor, Jaime’s the white of the King’s Guard and Loras’ silver tooled with roses. They circled, taking each other’s measure before Loras gave in to his temper and charged.

Their swords kissed and, after the initial clash, Jaime was viciously impressed to find that Loras had to give quite a lot of ground. Jaime’s sword had ended up on top and he used the superior position to force the Knight of Flowers backward. Jaime grinned, allowing the joy of the fight to take over.

“Who do you suppose I’ve been sparring with that got me strong enough to do that?” he asked the boy. “She’s twice the man you’ll ever be.”

“She’s a freak. Grotesque. Even Renly thought so. How can you defend her?” Loras grunted as he fought through Jaime’s attacks.

“Bother to spend a minute alone with her and you’ll see her honor. More than you’ve shown, accusing her with no evidence after a young king has promised you a favor.” Jaime had to admit Loras moved well, better than anyone currently serving in the Seven Kingdoms, himself included. Landing a blow was starting to seem like folly. He needed to disrupt Loras’ focus.

“Why did Renly give her a rainbow cloak if he disrespected her?” Jaime asked. He’d noticed that Loras got half a step slower when he spoke of Renly and welcomed the distraction.

“She asked for nothing else. All she wanted was to die for him,” Loras said, looking downright uncertain for a moment.

“Far more admirable to beg to serve than to demand someone’s death,” Jaime panted, pressing the attack. His years had melted away. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to kill the boy. “What did you suppose her motive to be?”

“I don’t know! I was going to demand it of her. Jealousy of my sister?” Loras’ slice toward Jaime’s face was so weak that Jaime’s parry nearly disarmed him.

“Do better. Both in your attacks and your thinking. Never mind the other circumstances, House Baratheon and House Tarth are not going to intermarry. She knew that.”

“It doesn’t matter. She did it and blamed a magic shadow.” Loras’ commitment gave him a second wind and he charged Jaime again. Their swords clashed in a crowd-pleasing display. Jaime allowed himself to give some ground until he regained control by brute force.

“Yes, anyone with any sense could come up with a better story than that. Rather makes it ring true. Kingslaying is a stressful business, you see. In my experience, you don’t have time to think up lies.”

Loras fractionally dropped his guard as he saw the deadly flash in Jaime’s eyes. He tried to recover, but protected his face rather than the joint of his shoulder. The tip of Jaime’s longsword slid inside his armor and hovered menacingly near his heart. “Yield. Yield and I’ll let you talk with her. I think you will see you’ve accused her unjustly.” Loras made to resist, so Jaime poked hard enough to show he was serious.

“I yield. But know you can’t keep her safe forever.”

He shouldn’t have said that; it was unsporting and rebellious, but Jaime laughed. “I’m not your only fearful obstacle there, I assure you. You have no idea how protected you were today, you strutting cockalorum. Next time it won't be pretty.”

 

Brienne heard cheers coming from the plaza. At first she ignored them as perhaps a reception for the heroes of the battle. Then, she could have sworn she heard the sounds of swords clashing. It was approaching noon and no one had come for her. No. Nooooo. He wouldn’t have. He knew how important this was to her. Please gods, let him not have cheated her so. When the imitation roaring started to echo through the streets, though, she had to give up on her illusions. He had.

 


	8. King's Landing V - Understanding

“Let Brienne know she’s free to go,” Jaime told his brother. He shone with triumph after defeating the Knight of Flowers and would have to receive congratulations from half the court before he could get away. If there had been any doubts about the Lord Commander’s prowess after his long imprisonment, he’d settled them for everyone who mattered today.

“You tell her; I’d rather have fought the duel,” Tyrion said in a flush of concern. If the twins had run this by him before acting, he could have told them how it would go over. Why did he have to be the one to face a likely furious Brienne, whose clear instructions about the trial had been disregarded by those she trusted most. Was it because he presented the smallest target?

“Don’t be difficult this one time, Brother. The rest of us have to stay here. You’re the only one whom no one will miss,” Cersei said. Since Lord Tywin’s victorious return at the head of the Lannister army, he had resumed the title of Hand of the King. His youngest son, then, currently had no official role at court.

Cersei could not have loved her twin more in that moment. He was sublimely handsome, the sun in his hair giving him the golden aura that was his birthright. The entire court had just seen that glorious lion prevail over their precious flower. A rose with no thorns, that one. Whereas all now witnessed that the lions still had their claws. Brienne’s trial had worked out perfectly for the Lannisters, the crown, and the girl herself.

Loras’ most boon companions were the only ones bold enough to approach him afterwards and offer their support. Speaking directly against the outcome was blasphemy, as well as politically unpopular at the moment, but there would be other days and other ways to handle it. Loras himself remained silent and thoughtful. Ser Jaime had fanned alive some embers of doubt he’d always harbored: Brienne’s previous unquestioning devotion, his own sister’s disbelief, and most of all, the steel gorget cut straight through. The woman was a freak, but no one could do that without a headman’s axe.

 

Tyrion put on his most winning smile as he opened the door of the tower cell. “Good news, Brienne. The gods have judged you innocent. You’re a free woman. Come and greet your well-wishers. Everyone in King’s Landing was for you all along, it turns out. That make seem like a shocking reversal from yesterday, but-“. He took in her unamused face.

“Your skill wasn’t in question; if anything we were too sure you’d win.” A flattering lie. One way or another, she would have been doomed if she’d fought for herself. “We needed to find a way for Loras and you to both survive. The city was going to fly apart if he was killed, and well, my siblings and I have grown very fond of you. Do you see?”

She was flushed with anger but preternaturally still, keeping herself under tight control. “I do see. I see more than you realize. I was swept away by your wealth, your humor, your intelligence. I accept full responsibility. You warned me right from the start: the Kingslayer doesn’t have a monstrous appearance. I should have figured out sooner that it applied to all of you. I enjoyed my time with your family – it was seductive – but there’s no honor here. You’re the worst kind of fruit: beautiful outside and rotten within."

Tyrion was speechless for a beat. It wasn’t like her to speak so much as once, not to mention so cruelly.

“Tell the Kingslayer I release him from his promise. I will continue on alone.”

“He did you a service!” Tyrion blurted, regaining his voice.

“Some service. Now all will see me as a woman, too weak to fight my own battles. Too afraid to face Loras Tyrell,” she practically spat the name. “Renly’s men will remember seeing me in silk and samite yesterday and think, of course. The Lannisters paid her to assassinate him, and now they’ve cheated justice as well. There’s no way left to clear my name, not with the the Storm lords, not to families that matter most to my House.”

“Brienne, the situation is not as dire-“

“You can go. I don't need to listen to you anymore. The longer you’re here, the more of your family’s foulness I absorb.”

 

Jaime burst scowling into Brienne’s usual room to find her dressed for travel. He’d already checked her tower cell and found it stripped of any ornament to mark it as hers; apparently she was trying to leave the city as quickly as possible.

“Wench! What’s this I hear about House Lannister being a den of foul smelling fruit or some such?” Tyrion had been very upset and had not made a lot of sense. “Are you angry with us?”

“Yes, I am angry.” Her words were clipped, a dismissal.

 _Contrary wench – she should be blowing us kisses._ “What right do you have to be angry? Brienne, it was politics, not a duel of honor.”

“No, not the trial,” she said, rather wrong-footing him. “I’m angry at myself. I let myself become distracted, taken in, by all this.” She gestured around to encompass the room or the city, it was unclear. “I should have never,” she shook her head, brow furrowed. “I’m stupid. So…stupid.” She turned her back on him, trying to put some distance between them in the austere room.

“What? The gifts? Remember who you’re talking to. I’ve spent more on wedding presents for cousins I hated-“

“Not the gifts,” she exclaimed, turning to show her crumbling facade, “the...all the...the kindness. The attention. I can’t believe I fell for it again.” She could cover her entire face with her enormous hands. She tried to stifle the sounds, but Jaime could see the skin on her neck mottling and her ears turning red.

Approaching her as he would a wounded animal, he asked as tenderly as he could, “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I loved you,” she whimpered, voice shaking, “All of you. I did. Go ahead and laugh. I deserve it. So thick. So slow. I really, truly believed you cared for me. Dim as I am ugly, right? Please say it. Go ahead. I know it’s killing you.” She lowered her hands. Jaime didn’t think he’d ever seen such despair in a person’s eyes. Spring the trap, they begged. Put me out of my misery.

He bundled her into his arms. She was so tense she was trembling. “Where is this coming from, you st…sweet girl? Of course I care about you. I just fought a duel for you, didn’t I?”

He pushed her back enough for her to see his eyes. “In a fair fight, my money would be on you any day. But this is King’s Landing, and it wasn’t going to be fair. I couldn’t let them hurt you. You’re – family.”

She shook her head as if trying to keep the words out of her ears. “You don’t mean it. You‘ve already won. You don’t have to keep playing. All compliments from men are lies; you only need a mirror to know it.”

She was quoting someone, someone that Jaime now wanted to punch. “I never said you were pretty, just that you’re family. Tyrion’s family too. You can probably look better than him if you wipe the snot off your nose.”

“Stop it,” she demanded. Why was he still teasing her like this? All of them, with their fair features and beautiful golden hair, mocking the homely girl who dared to think she belonged with them.

“No.” He pulled her back into his embrace. She tried to squirm away, but he held on. He’d gotten stronger with her; she wasn’t escaping him. “Tell me what happened.”

Brienne stopped fighting and slumped against his chest. She supposed it didn’t matter now if he knew. They could already laugh about her foolishness endlessly. What harm was another story about the stupid, ugly girl? “When I joined Renly’s cause, some of the men were very nice to me. Just a few at first, but more and more as time went on. They gave me gifts, spent time with me, pr-pretended to respect me. I was charmed and so stupidly flattered. Lord Tarly was the one who told me how it was just a game. A competition to see who could first sleep with me…fuck me, you know?”

“Yes,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. _Don’t ask, it’s not the time._ “Do you remember any of their names?” _Damn it._

“Of course. I got to bring down a few of them at Renly’s melee,” she sniffed. That still felt good to remember.

“Oh, there’s my wench.” He gave her a squeeze and looked at her so proudly, that she started to believe again in spite of herself.

“Listen, I’m your big brother and I’m always going to take care of you. It’s wonderful that you can fight your own battles, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to get between you and danger.”

“No. There’s no reason…nothing special about me.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. You were too harsh with yourself earlier, but you can be on the thick side. Riverrun? Harrenhal? The Mud Gate? Ring any bells about why I might take issue with you saying you’re not special? Fighting side by side; you can’t tell me you don’t feel the kinship. Three times you’ve saved my life. How can I repay that kind of debt?” He wasn’t being completely forthright there. It wasn’t so much that she’d saved his life. It was that she’d seen his as a life worth saving.

“That’s not…you saved me at Harrenhal. Then, again probably at the trial yesterday. We would have both died in Riverrun...” Just by saying it aloud, she recognized that his actions proved her distrust unworthy of them both. This wasn’t a few gifts to pass the time between battles. The stakes had been life or death since they’d met.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, and I was wrong,” she forced the words out still sounding puzzled. She let go of her remaining doubts, in a silent prayer: _please don’t let him laugh at me. If he says it was all a joke now, I’ll never get over it._

“I’m going to need you to say that in front of some witnesses or no one will ever believe me. The stubbornest wench in the world admits a mistake!”

Jaime helped her stand on her own. He was smiling tenderly. There was no cruelty in his tone. Brienne swallowed. “I should apologize to Tyrion, too. I said some vile things earlier. I’m sure I hurt our brother’s feelings,” she said trying it out. It didn’t feel like as much of a farce as it had before.

 

The door to the Hand’s study was ajar. In all the excitement of Brienne’s trial, Jaime had not considered how Tywin reassuming his duties as Hand would leave Tyrion out in the cold. He was packing away the extensive collection of books he’d had shipped from Casterly Rock to assist him in his duties.

“Tyrion,” Jaime rapped on the door. “Your brother wants to speak with you.”

“Well, come in and don’t be so formal about it.”

“Not me. Her.” Jaime pushed Brienne into the room.

Brienne dashed to Tyrion then knelt to sweep him into a hug. She repeated variations of, “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean a word of it,” into his neck for a while, then looked him in the eyes to say, “I was just scared to believe anyone could love me, and I get angry when I’m scared.”

Tyrion reflected that she was acting more like a brother than a sister, though he was admittedly a bit stunted in the concept of sisterly affection. He finally patted her thick shoulders and said that all was forgiven.

Jaime beamed down on them. “We’re adopting her.”

“Have you discussed this with our sweet sister?” Tyrion asked. Cersei had never been big on sharing.

“She was very open to the idea.” They’d met Cersei on the way to the tower, and she’d kissed Brienne until her eyes had bugged out and she'd silently pleaded for rescue. It was adorable.

“With Father around, it may be simpler to marry her,” Tyrion said with studied casualness.

“Oh, she wouldn’t like that. She made me promise not to. I suppose it will have to be unofficial for now. But it’s what’s in our hearts that matters.”

“Welcome to the family,” Tyrion said kissing her hand. All the while, he wondered if there was a name for the type of sexual hang-up his older brother obviously had.

 


	9. King's Landing VI - Departure

Tyrion clearly had something on his mind. He kept putting down his fork, looking like he was ready to say something, then having a drink of wine and resuming eating. By the end of dinner, all conversation had ceased as his siblings dawdled, impatient for him to find the right way to broach his subject. He put down his fork. Cersei moved his goblet out of his easy reach.

“I’ve received some new information,” he began to a non-verbal chorus of _finally_. “I am not sure how welcome it will be, though, so may we conclude this fine meal with a promise of no yelling?” He made no effort to hide that the comment was directed to Jaime and Brienne’s side of the table. They mumbled agreement that didn’t sound as binding as he’d hoped.

“Loras Tyrell,” Tyrion said and paused. Indeed, Jaime already appeared to be cursing under his breath. “Loras Tyrell squired for Renly Baratheon for several years and was his most trusted companion for several more. Most of the time, they lived at Storm’s End or toured the castles of his bannermen in the southern lands. On occasion, however, they would visit Dragonstone.” He paused again. Surely they could put it together by now. A survey of the table, though, showed only a sea of impatient faces.

“When on Dragonstone, the two of them would often desire privacy. Stannis being prickly and uptight at the best of times, they wanted to avoid offending him. Therefore, Renly made a study of the secret passageways they could use to travel around the castle and even come and go outside it.” The light started to dawn in their eyes, except for Brienne who was trying her best not to make eye contact with anyone.

“Will he make a map for us?” Brienne asked, staring resolutely at the table.

“Unfortunately, Loras tended to rely on Renly to guide him around. He believes, though, if he were there-“. Even as he said it, Tyrion braced himself.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Jaime didn’t disappoint.

“We do not have the men to assault Dragonstone by sea. We’ve known all along a stealth mission was the only chance. Now Loras could make it ten times easier.”

“Assuming he’s not lying. He may just be looking for a chance to cut her throat as she sleeps. No, it’s an insane risk.”

“We spoke, you know, Loras and I,” Brienne said. Jaime had been suspicious about that as well, only relenting when Loras allowed himself to be searched for weapons. “He believes me, I think. At the very least, he believes Stannis was behind it. It would help me, Jaime, for him to renounce his accusation.” Even after the trial, she hadn’t felt clean of the stain of Renly’s murder. She feared for the reputation of her house if the rumors persisted.

Jaime was still shaking his head. “Reckless wench, he tries to kill you a week ago and you’re ready to go off alone with him?” A nature as trusting as hers didn’t belong anywhere near royal politics.

“We wouldn’t be alone. There will be other men-at-arms and porters at least for the land part of the journey.”

“Will you hark her? As if a bunch of stevedores could protect-“

“I can protect myself!”

“If I may continue,” Tyrion’s voice rose over his squabbling siblings, “I understand there is plenty to say about Loras, but he is a talented swordsman. With his skills and inside knowledge, we could be ready in days rather than weeks. We’d catch Stannis before he has a chance to rebuild his command structure.”

“If he’s going, I’m going,” Jaime said.

Brienne scoffed at the childishness of it at first, until she saw the resolve on his face. “Jaime, no. You belong here, protecting the royal family.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Cersei countered. “He’ll protect our interests best by ensuring Stannis’ defeat. Joffrey’s claim to the throne is valid, of course, but some would still support Stannis against our family if only out of spite.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest anew, but Cersei spoke first. “Your queen orders you not to be so stubborn, Brienne. Let Jaime guard your back and you guard his. That way, both of you will come home. Bring the Knight of Flowers back as well, if it pleases you.”

“The three of you, then. Sounds like quite a party,” Tyrion nodded. “We’ll start assembling the gear tomorrow and have it delivered outside the city. We should be able to keep this mission quiet if you leave one at a time.”

 

Brienne let the door to her chamber click closed behind her. She was glad that Cersei had pressed her to have wine with dinner, otherwise she’d surely have trouble sleeping. She had anticipated tomorrow’s journey for so long that it had begun to feel like a fantasy. All at once, reality had returned and the plans developed at a breathtaking pace. Jaime coming along was a comfort, she couldn’t deny that. She never asked for anyone to take care of her. She’d bucked against the idea ever since she was a child, when it had meant making decisions for her. Still, having Jaime act as her protective big brother was more uplifting than she liked to let on. If only she could get past her worries and sleep tonight.

The most exotic woman Brienne had ever seen was waiting in her bed chamber. Her skin was the jet black of the Summer Islands. She wore a flowing dress of orange silk belted with brightly polished beads. She couldn’t be a servant of the palace. Brienne would have noticed her; she was simply too distinctive.

“Who are you?“ she asked, not angry at the intrusion but certainly puzzled.

“I am Alayaya, my lady. Your sister had me summoned to help you relax for your journey.”

Cersei. Hmm. She was always offering advice. Brienne had stopped trying to figure out whether she was truly trying to assist her or using her nearly magical powers of conversation to turn what had seemed like a compliment into an insult.

“She thought perhaps you would like a massage.”

Oh. Well that seemed harmless. “I suppose that could be nice. I’ve never had one before.”

“Yes, she said as much. No worries; you are in good hands.”

Alayaya helped Brienne undress to lie in bed on her belly. Brienne had unconsciously braced for stinging comments about her body, but Alayaya was kind, even flattering. She cooed over her missing finger and her other remains of past battles. She rubbed fragrant oils into her shoulders and back and seemed to have a sixth sense about when Brienne wanted quiet or conversation.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a stronger man, my lady, much less a woman. You’re most delicious.” Brienne had been feeling very relaxed indeed, but…that was an odd word. She opened her eyes. Alayaya smiled down at her. “Roll over so I can do your front.”

Brienne felt much more awkward on her back. It was so intimate. There weren’t many safe places for Alayaya to put her hands. They were such dark hands and Brienne’s skin was so light, it was hard for her to not to watch the contrast. _This is so strange, and it isn’t really relaxing anymore._

As usual, Alayaya was a pace ahead of her. She leaned in to whisper throatily in Brienne’s ear, “You are very innocent, aren’t you?”

“That, and a little thick, I suppose,” her skin wasn’t so pale anymore either; she’d flushed a blotchy red.

“Help me take this off.” Alayaya put the ties of her belt into Brienne’s hand.

“No. I don’t want to.”

“Your sweet little breasts say different. What’s the harm? It won’t change you. It will just make you feel wonderful for a time.” Brienne looked down to see her nipples pink and erect. _If I was as good a knight as she is a whore, Stannis would be dead already._

“Honestly, please, that’s not what I want.”

“I live to please, my lady. What do you want?”

 

They were supposed to depart from the city one at a time, first Loras, then Jaime, then Brienne. They were all dressed in common riding clothes, though that did little good as subterfuge with their distinctive appearances. Jaime was waiting for Brienne at the first turn of the road. His eyes gleamed with excitement even though combat was likely to be several days away.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

“What a coincidence, Ser Jaime. Does you father know you’re going for a ride?”

“It’s fine with him so long as I’m back in time for the wedding. Did you sleep well last night?” he asked. Before she knew him well, Brienne would have said he asked ‘casually’. Now, instead, she’d say ‘slyly’.

She threw a waterskin at the back of his head. “I knew Cersei couldn’t have done it on her own. Jaime, you know women aren’t my preference.“

“No, you do me wrong. She only told me after the fact. Still, boar isn’t my favorite dish, but if it’s on my plate…”

“Oh really? So if a handsome fellow came to your room…“

“Hey, what happened in Dorne stays in Dorne,” he said eyes sparkling. Brienne was over halfway sure he was teasing her. He continued, “Sounds like you found her attractive though. I suppose if Tyrion picked her, she would be.”

“Tyrion! He was involved as well?” So the teasing was a family affair.

“Of course. Cersei needed his expert assistance. You are really helping them find a common interest. Getting you spread and well laid.” He raised his voice for that last bit, of course.

“Can you kindly inform both of them that my tastes do not run to-“

“Yes, yes. No more female prostitutes, understood.” Like he would get her a male whore. That was an extremely different proposition. It made him uncomfortable just thinking about it.

“I caught that. No more prostitutes of any-” She broke off embarrassed. “Ser Loras.”

Loras was happy to pretend he hadn’t heard the last bit of that conversation. Why even bother to tempt boring, ugly Brienne of Tarth? She was entirely dead between the legs anyway, judging by how she’d ignored all the men at camp who were practically begging her. Dogs.

“Brienne, could you go up ahead and see that all the equipment is set for travel? If we ride until evening, we should be able to make Duskendale,” Jaime said.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Jaime toppled Loras from his horse in one swift yank. As he jumped down to glower over the young knight, he commanded, “You do not so much as muss her hair. Are we clear on that?”

“I mean her no harm. I swear on my sword and on my honor as-“

“Words are wind. Here are some of mine: If anything happens to her, I will string you up, gut you, and leave you for the crows and flies. Understand?”

Loras nodded, shocked mute. He had not heard about…whatever in the Seven Hells this was.

 

Over the next few days, they traveled past Duskendale and through several small villages to the wilds of Crackclaw Point. The next leg of the journey would be by boat. They would sail out beyond the lighthouses and land on the north beach of Dragonstone, then make their way to the castle proper. Loras was confident he could find the smuggler’s tunnel even at night.

Loras had watched Jaime and Brienne together, and their interactions grew more puzzling by the day. When they sparred, it was damn near foreplay. He and Renly used to spar like that, then fuck ‘til neither could move. It would be an odd coupling to be sure, but he of all people could understand how personal chemistry could overcome social incompatibilities. Afterward though, they would sit down to a meal together and insult each other, sometimes jokingly and sometimes not. They never wandered off surreptitiously or even slept at the same time. Jaime always kept the overnight watch with him, staring with malevolence.

“I’m sorry I accused her,” he tried one night. She had graciously accepted his apology when they’d spoken at King’s Landing. Ser Jaime, on the other hand, showed no signs of forgiveness.

“Fat lot of good that would have done her if Joffrey had taken off her head. Your rashness nearly killed an innocent maid. She deserves far more than an apology from you.”

“What would you have me do? Marry her?” Loras gave it a moment’s thought. “I suppose I could marry her. She’s noble, and as women go, she’s the…strongest I know.”

Jaime choked like he had a fish bone caught in his throat. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“I wasn’t joking! Father’s been nagging at me for a while. He’ll choose if I don’t. It might be fun, having a wife that knows about arms and armor. She could be my squire.”

Jaime’s words came out choppy and furious. “Don’t you dare. She deserves so much better than you.” He stalked away flexing his hands like he wanted to be holding a sword. Loras had a pretty good idea what other candidate he had in mind. You can always trust the sparring.

 

“Ready for the big day tomorrow, Wench? Or rather, the big night tomorrow night, but that doesn’t so much roll off the tongue.” They would launch for the island of Dragonstone at tomorrow’s sunset. With good fortune, that would bring them past the lookouts in the dark of night.

“I’m not sure. Really. I’ve planned and, yes, obsessed about it for so long that it seemed like it would never happen. Now, what if something goes wrong?”

Jaime patted her shoulder comfortingly. She was brooding as was her tendency; he’d have to jolly her out of it by changing her focus. “Sounds like you’re losing your virginity, not going to war. Of course, we both know you left your maidenhead in King’s Landing.”

“What? No! Nothing happened. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because you’re a terrible liar. You’re blushing, you can’t look me in the eye, you’ve got your shoulders hunched in. These are all things you do when you’re lying, plus a few more I’m not going to bring to your attention. Come on, everyone loves hearing how you liked a gift. What use you put it to.”

“Just because I didn’t kick her out immediately doesn’t mean…” _Gods, he was right. I can’t look him in the eye; I am blushing. Fine._ Brienne glanced around to make sure Loras wasn’t snooping. “I only… I asked her to stay the night, okay? To hold me. That’s all.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked skeptically.

“I was scared and a little lonely. I wanted to be near someone.” _He’s my brother. He loves me. He’s not going to detest me for admitting weakness._

He pulled her into a one-armed embrace. “Of course you did. Nothing to be ashamed of. I spent the night with my favorite whore as well. Same reason.”

Brienne was grateful her face was buried in his flank or he’d have seen her expression. He could probably feel her grinning anyway. “That’s a terrible way to talk about our sister.”

“We have no secrets, hmm?” he said bussing the top of her head.

“There was maybe a little kissing,” she muttered.

 


	10. Dragonstone I - Dungeons

The skiff was overloaded, with three passengers plus their heavy armor, but Brienne had mastered piloting a boat before she’d ever ridden a horse. They approached the island of Dragonstone from the less hospitable northern side under a dim crescent moon. Though many of the details were hidden by darkness, the fanciful dragon shapes made of unchiseled black stone were unmistakable.

“Valyrian sorcery,” Brienne muttered. “It’s made Stannis as unnatural inside as the twisted castle that surrounds him.”

“Unnatural they may be, but powerful,” Jaime warned. “Don’t let down your guard. We’ll do best if our foes don’t know we’re here until they feel our swords through their backs. We’re three against a castle. If an alarm is raised, we’re done. Slow and quiet.”

Brienne feared that Loras was going to lead them to crash onto the rocks. True to his word, however, a cunning tunnel was cut into the base, narrow and black. Loras lit a torch and crouched in the bow to assist in navigation. As the way widened into a small cavern, the torch started to flicker and they could detect a sulfuric foulness to the air. Brienne tied the skiff to a pillar and unshipped their gear. The heat was oppressive, even before they donned their armor. Afterwards, rather than feeling like they were in the bowels of a castle, it was more akin to being seated uncomfortably close to a roaring hearth.

“It gets cooler as you climb,” Loras said. “There’s a stairway cut into the stone here, but it’s so steep that it’s closer to a ladder. I’d take your boots off and climb barefoot. If you miss a step in the pitch blackness, whoever’s on top will bring everyone below them down.”

“Best you show us the way, then,” Jaime said.

Loras ascended first, followed by Jaime, then Brienne, all barefoot and in order of descending grace. They proceeded with agonizing care. Jaime hoped the outside heat would let up before they baked alive in their armor like Rickard Stark. At long last, Loras emerged from the passageway and waved the others through. They were in a shadowed nook below a proper staircase leading up.

“That goes to the dungeons,” Loras said. “Once there, we can climb up to the bridge that leads to the Stone Drum, the main keep. Stannis is sure to be there, along with most of his force.”

They put their boots back on. Brienne noted that, while the heat was lessened, the walls were still warm to the touch. She shook her head at the strangeness.

Jaime said, “Weapons ready. We’ll meet our first guards up those stairs. Fights need to be fast and silent.”

The room at the head of the stairs was the entryway to the dungeons. Inside, a lanky older man was drinking ale while gazing deeply into the flames of a torch. There was no fight; Jaime killed him with one stroke.

“We’ll need to go all the way to the top of the stairs to reach the bridge,” Loras said.

“Who’s there?” A voice called from the dungeon hallway.

 

Jaime and Brienne left Loras to guard the entryway while they saw to the prisoner. They needed him to keep quiet, which might involve killing him. On the other hand, a prisoner in Stannis’ dungeon likely bore no love for him either and might have useful information.

The cell was dark with no windows and only a torch on the sconce outside for illumination. There was little inside but a pile of straw, a filthy bucket, and a sickly looking man. He was pale and balding, but he still had a degree of fire behind his eyes. Imprisonment hadn’t broken him yet.

“Tell us who you are, first,” Jaime said.

“I am Ser Davos of House Seaworth.”

“The Onion Knight; the former smuggler?”

“Aye.”

“You led Stannis’ navy at the Battle of the Blackwater.”

“I did.”

“We had assumed you’d either died there or that you’d be standing alongside Stannis. Why are you in his dungeons?”

Davos struggled not to say. Jaime could empathize. When he’d been alone in the dungeons of Riverrun, the lack of human contact had nearly driven him insane. When poor Brienne had arrived, he’d just about talked her ears off. She’d always been a good listener and had absorbed more of his bitter taunts than he could ever repay. Jaime suppressed a chuckle. The dungeon was making him nostalgic for when they’d first met.

“You want to tell me. Something must have gone wrong with Stannis if he’s turned on his oldest friends.”

“It’s not him. It’s her.” The words started to come from Davos in an ungoverned flood. “The Red Woman. He’s under her control or near enough. She burnt the sept. She burnt the non-believers. She’s burning away everything that was best about Stannis. He can still be saved though, if someone can get her away from him. So, that’s what I was trying to do. Kill her to free him.”

“This Red Woman – is that his sorcerer?” Brienne asked.

“Aye. She’s no mere maegi though. She’s a priestess of the Red God, from Asshai. Her powers come from beyond the mortal realm.”

“You would still support Stannis? After all this?” Jaime gestured to encompass the dim prison.

“I swore an oath to him.”

“You’re a loyal man.”

“I’m a simple man. An oath’s an oath.”

Jaime shot an annoyed glance at Brienne. “Oh, don’t get her started about oaths.”

Ignoring him, Brienne strode forward. “I also swore an oath to my king, Renly Baratheon, who was slain by Stannis’ foul sorcery. The shadow had his face.”

“His face, but it’s she who controls the shadows,” Davos maintained steadfastly.

“Tell me all you know of it,” Brienne demanded.

“I can’t know exactly what happened to Renly as I wasn’t there. For the next one, though, I saw the shadow come out of her. She gave birth to it. It went into the castle, and the next day, Ser Penrose was dead.” Some hints of madness had started to come into his demeanor. “She’s not human. She can’t be. The things I’ve seen her do. She says she works for the light, but no gods worth worshiping would demand the kinds of sacrifices hers does.”

“If she’s not human, how did you seek to kill her?” Brienne asked. She and Tyrion had been over and over this problem for weeks on end.

“I had a…dagger,” Davos said, only then realizing the futility of his plan. “I meant to catch her, you see, by surprise.” He sighed. “I’m a fool. I’ve seen her drink poisoned wine along with another man that killed him and left her untouched. I couldn’t have written an end to her with my dagger. In my defense, I was an ill and desperate man.”

“Don’t feel bad; her plan was a sword,” Jaime said. “Well, three swords.”

“If you mean to kill her, let me out. I can help.”

“No, your loyalty is first and foremost to Stannis. We can’t have you interrupting our meeting.”

“You still haven’t told me your names. I think I’ve sussed it out, though. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.” Davos let that sink in for a moment, then focused on Brienne. “Tarth, right?”

Her eyes widened, surprised to be recognized. “That’s right. Brienne of Tarth.”

“I didn’t know which of the girls you were. You all looked like your mother.” Davos shook his head in wistful recollection. “She served as harbor master to Tarth back in my smuggling days. Devious minded woman; found every one of my secret holds. Lost an entire shipment of Arbor Gold and ambergris.”

“We may still have some of that Arbor Gold in the wine cellars.”

“Theft! Corruption!” Davos protested mockingly, his harsh Flea Bottom r’s on prominent display.

Brienne laughed along, more at ease than she’d been since they departed.

The sly, old dog was about to smuggle himself out of prison, Jaime realized.

“Brienne, go check on Loras. It’s too quiet out there.”

“No,” she replied. They had a silent but intense conversation with their eyes alone to the effect of: ‘I know you mean to kill him when my back is turned.’ ‘He can not be trusted.’ ‘Leave him here then.’

Finally Jaime relented. “My lady of Tarth would have you gagged rather than silenced, if you catch my meaning. Try anything with her, and we do it my way.”

Brienne unlocked the cell and approached Davos with pieces of material cut from her cloak. “I’m sorry it has to be so tight,” she said, tying a gag around his mouth and binding his hands behind his back. Jaime rolled his eyes at her absurd apology. She left, re-locking the door behind herself. Once they had rejoined their companion in the entryway, Davos tried to wiggle free. Her knots were firm and compact though, a true daughter of the sea. He was going to have to wait this one out.

 

“It turns out the sorcerer is a priestess,” Jaime informed Loras, “and at least one of Stannis’ own men swears that her power is very real. Whether she can be killed by steel is up for question. Remember Stannis is the target; if we can avoid her, we should.”

“It sounds like she’s the more responsible party,” Brienne objected.

“Don’t be too swayed by the tales of a follower who loves him. A king is ultimately the one responsible for the actions of his underlings. Remember, I killed Aerys, no matter that he was a crazy, defeated, old man. He had to die. He had been responsible for too much and more to come.”

Brienne gave Jaime a shake to bring him back to the present. His emerald eyes had started to look muddy and lost. She needed him here with her now, not consumed by his past misdeeds.

“So be it then. But the witch must pay for her part in it someday.”

Loras led them up the stairs outside the dungeons. Many stories up, there was a bridge that connected to the main keep. They had climbed about five floors when they crossed the boundary that, in a normal castle, would have been the ground floor. The stairs showed more signs of regular traffic, and there were occasional noises of other people coming from the higher floors. Jaime still considered that it didn’t feel right. There castle was far more deserted than he had expected.

As they rounded yet another landing, Brienne saw something out of the corner of her eye. It was a flame burning unsupported in the doorway. Hadn’t that door been closed before? She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. The men kept climbing, not noticing that she had lagged behind. She should catch up, she knew, but as if hypnotized, she followed the flame instead as it moved through the doorway. She felt pleasantly warm, almost drunk. A woman dressed all in red closed and barred the door behind her.

“Why follow them? It is me you seek, Beauty, and that is well. It is past time we met.”

 


	11. Dragonstone II - Nightfires

Brienne’s muddled mind started to clear as the Red Woman stepped into her view. She was radiantly beautiful, willowy tall, and calm. The red hues in her hair and garments seemed to shift, though that may have been from the flickering flames. The chamber they were in was largely bare but for a large brazier full of fiercely burning coals. It made the room feel overheated even at this dark hour and threw strange shadows onto the walls.

Despite being unarmed, the Red Woman seemed confident in her control of the situation. “Did you think I would not see you coming? The Lord of Light shows me much in the flames.”

Brienne drew her sword and brought it around to face the priestess. “You. You’re the one Ser Davos warned us about. You’re Stannis’ witch.”

“I am no man’s witch. I serve the Lord of Light in all I do.”

The woman’s words were silky to Brienne’s ears, her Eastern accent musical. Brienne may not have mastered playing politics during her time in King’s Landing, but she’d at least learned when to demand clarity. “Do you confess it was your magics that slew Renly Baratheon?”

“All magic comes from the Lord of Light. You should put your sword down. I am concerned for your comfort.”

“Tell me! Did you kill King Renly?”

“You are persistent. It is admirable. We will not be able to talk until you have your answer, I see.” Melisandre’s movements were slow and smooth, unthreatening. Brienne didn’t notice the witch's hand reaching into her sleeve and emerging with a few pinches of scarlet powder. Melisandre turned gracefully and blew the powder at the wall opposite Brienne. “Very well. Yes, the Lord of Light provided me with a gift, and with His living shadow, I killed Renly Baratheon.”

“You are condemned by your own words. I-" Brienne tried to bring her sword over her head to prepare for a killing blow and found that she could not move. She struggled, but could not budge her body or her sword so much as an inch. Even her most panicked flailing produced no result. “What have you done to me!?”

“You are bound here for a time. As I said, we need to talk and your passions are too hot for reason. You will recover, once you have had time to understand the truth.”

Melisandre brought her hand up to rest over Brienne’s heart. Even through her breastplate, Brienne could feel unnatural heat coming from the Red Woman’s hand. “You have a pure heart, Beauty. Purged as clean as if it had been through the hottest flames. You will make a powerful warrior for His army.”

“I do not serve your fire god, Witch.”

“You do and you will. As will your companions. You all have roles to play. I have seen it in the flames.

“You must understand, this little war is nothing but a training yard scuffle. Two brothers wanted to see who was stronger. The wolf wants to be on its own. The kraken thinks it can live out of water. The lion wants to lead rather than serve. They are all misguided. None of it matters. The real war, the Great War, is between the Lord of Light and the Night King. That war is almost upon us. This is why the Lord has deemed the time right to call forth his champion, Stannis, to unite the realm. He will be victorious and lead the Seven Kingdoms against the Great Other.”

Brienne wanted to threaten and yell, but held herself back. She was at the Red Woman’s mercy, and the woman was a fanatic. She'd held Brienne's eyes with a clear and steady gaze throughout her speech, no faltering for lies or self-delusion. Brienne knew she had to master her temper and reason with her. “If you don’t call me Beauty, I won’t call you Witch. Do you have a name?”

“Oh, you don’t know you’re beautiful? The Lord of Light shows me your beauty, and it is blinding. But I will use your name if you prefer. You may call me Melisandre.”

“Melisandre, Stannis can not be your Lord’s chosen one. His fleet was just destroyed. By fire.”

“It was not true fire. If I had been there, the Lord would have protected the ships. Stannis knows he was wrong to send me away, now.”

“How is it then that you kill with shadow assassins? Shadows-"

“Shadows are servants of light. If there is no light, there can be no shadow.” There was a trace of amusement in Melisandre's usually serene expression.

She was steadfast in her beliefs; Brienne could understand that. “Stannis must pay for his crimes. I cannot leave the castle without his blood spilling, or mine.” Admitting this was a risk, but more and more Brienne felt that there wasn’t much about this mission that Melisandre didn’t already know. “Free me so I can do my duty by King Renly, or kill me. I will never serve you.”

“Stannis is not to die here. He must take his army north. The Night King has made moves that must be countered. None of the other so-called kings have answered the call, but Stannis will do as the Lord of Light guides him.

“I understand this will be difficult for you. Allow me to ease your conscience. Stannis has a daughter, Shireen, ten years old, who lives in the Sea Dragon tower. As the child of a true king, her blood would be a powerful sacrifice to the Lord. It would grant us fair winds and weather for our sail north. I will leave you here and go to the child to give her to the flames. You can choose, whether to rush to her tower to save her, or to attack Stannis in the Drum.”

“You’re insane! You would sacrifice a child? Ser Davos was right; your god is a monster.”

Melisandre’s lips pursed into a smile. “I will always do as the Lord of Light commands. I will leave you with a parting gift, however. As you wait for you companions to arrive, stare into the flames. You will see some things of interest, I am sure.”

Brienne didn’t really have a choice. Even after Melisandre stepped away, she still couldn’t move. There was nothing in her line of sight except the flaming brazier. It was so hot. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the sweat from running into them. When she reopened them, she suddenly felt cooler. The ashes in the flames looked like snow. There were leafless trees and snow and herself, dressed all in furs. She was drawing her sword, and there was Stannis. She was going to execute him. He was broken; not fighting back.

Brienne desperately swept her eyes around the room to find the Red Woman and tell her she was wrong. Stannis could not be the chosen one. He was going to die before the Great War started. She was going to kill him, but in the north when winter had come. She couldn’t see Melisandre, though. She hadn’t heard the door open, and there were no other exits.

“Are you there?” she asked, but no one answered.

 

“How in the Seven Hells do you misplace a woman big as an ox and wearing platemail?” Loras asked in frustration. They’d made it all the way to the landing for the bridge only to look back and find themselves short one warrior.

“I don’t know!”

“Could she have run off?”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly it. She came this far and got overwhelmed by girlish fears. Idiot.” The acid in Jaime’s words could have eaten through his helm. “She’s been planning this for weeks.”

“Gotten lost?”

It was all Jaime could do not to yell so loudly he brought half the garrison down on them. “Because climbing stairs is so complicated?!”

“Could she have had some other agenda she didn’t tell you about?”

Finally, a half-decent suggestion, but Jaime shook his head. “My swordswench is a simple creature. She sees a murder and dedicates herself to ramming a sword through the murderer’s guts. That’s been her mission since I met her. She’d not abandon it now for any reason.”

“Well, should we go on?”

“Gods, you really are just a pretty face, aren’t you? No, obviously, if she’s not here, she’s in trouble. We have to find her.”

The knights trudged back down the stairs, checking landing by landing. Most doors opened onto empty hallways which they agreed did not look promising. The eighth down, however, was barred from the inside. Jaime rammed it with his shoulder.

“Wench, are you in there?”

He heard no reply, but kept pounding at the door anyway. He was making too much noise, but his fears had gotten the better of him. What could they be doing to her that would make them bar the door? Loras joined in, and the door finally gave way. They both nearly fell into the stifling room.

Seeing Brienne in a fighting stance with her sword drawn, Jaime automatically drew as well. She was standing stock still, all her attention focused on the flames of a brazier. No one else was in the room, however.

“Brienne, what is it? What are you doing?”

Brienne blinked away the visions that had her absorbed. It was Jaime’s voice. Jaime had just killed a man wearing the badge of the Hand of the king. He was stalking toward the Iron Throne. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t get the images out of head, especially the expression of crazed grief on Jaime’s face. Loras crossed behind her to examine a corner of the room. For a second, she could move. Her arms dipped down and her head turned to face Jaime.

“What happened?”

“That’s what we’d like to know. How did you get here?”

“The Red Woman led me here. Jaime, she did something to me. I can’t move. Except, just a moment ago…”

“There’s a secret passage here,” Loras commented. “It leads down to the inner walls. You can make it to some of the towers without needing to go through the keep.”

“Never mind that now, come over here. There’s a problem.” Jaime couldn’t force Brienne out of her frozen position with all his strength.

Again, as Loras approached from behind, Brienne felt some freedom in her limbs.

“Stop, right there. What’s going on?” she asked.

Jaime looked over and saw it. Loras, standing between the brazier and the wall was blocking half her shadow. The rest stood out, stark and black against the granite. Jaime went over to stand next to Loras, obscuring the whole of it. Brienne slumped in relief for a moment, then scurried to put her back against the wall away from the flames. When the men moved, they could see Brienne’s shadow remained on the wall as if it had been painted there.

“Magic?” Jaime asked.

“Magic. She’s insane, but her power is real. Even worse, she believes every word she says.” Brienne made her way to the secret staircase.

“Wrong way, Wench. We still have to climb-”

“Never mind Stannis. We have to get to Sea Dragon tower. She’s going to kill the princess.”

“Never mind Stannis? What happened to bloody vengeance and vows? The princess is just a little girl with greyscale, what's that to you?” Jaime’s protests went unanswered as she was already pounding down the stairs.

“I will never understand women,” Loras said. Jaime still wanted to punch him, but in this he rather had to agree.

 


	12. Dragonstone III - Shireen

Jaime and Loras chased Brienne down the hidden staircase. They lost sight of her as she spiraled toward the ground level. She must have given real credence to the Red Woman’s threats, Jaime thought. This level of impulsivity was far more like him than her. Jaime’s heart leapt into his throat when he heard sounds of combat coming from below. He pelted down the rough-hewn stairs at an unsafe speed as the grunts and clashes grew louder. Two guards were already dead at Brienne’s feet when he arrived, with more approaching through a door open to the outside.

“They saw me through the door,” she explained. “The witch likes to set traps. We might have to fight our way there.”

They gave ground inside the doorway, trying to keep the battle within the walls. If Tyrion’s assessment of the castle garrison was correct, these must be guards from the nearest watchtower. Most likely, the three of them would be able to defeat Stannis’ men easily so long as the battle didn’t attract the attention of the archers stationed on the battlements. If the archers started stinging them, this grand adventure could be over in a heartbeat.

Only one detachment of guards came from the watchtower. Their skill with swords proved no match for the opponents they faced in Jaime, Brienne, and Loras. Still, even a quick battle was a delay Brienne felt that they could ill afford. Jaime agreed; Stannis would be sure to have meticulous scheduling for his household guards. As soon as any were missed, the entire castle would be on alert.

“Loras, what’s the fastest way to Sea Dragon from here? Inside the wall or across the courtyard?” Brienne asked.

“Sea Dragon…had the rookery…it’s this way. Inside the wall.”

Brienne took off at a run again, the men following closely behind. She didn’t even draw her sword for the next guards they met. She just lowered her shoulder and slammed into one like a runaway cart horse. He went down hard on his back and was quick work for Jaime. Loras killed his partner before the surprised fellow managed to draw his blade.

There were four guards waiting at the base of next staircase. These were prepared for combat, dressed in plate armor with weapons and shields at the ready. To Jaime, though, they didn’t have the distinctive bearing of king’s guard. They seemed more like well-armored heavy foot soldiers, not elite knights who’d sworn to give their lives if necessary to protect the royal family.

“You’re sure this is the right tower?” he asked Loras.

The young knight nodded, and they waded in, three versus four. The quarters were tight with little room for maneuvering. The guards could use their shields to full effect, forming a line with overlapping protection. Brienne’s best attacks were hampered as she could not get a full backswing of her greatsword. Jaime fought cleverly, attacking the legs of one the middle guards. As the man stumbled backward, a breach formed in the rank. Jaime had planned to further divide and conquer the line, but Brienne moved first.

“No!” Jaime cried as Brienne rushed through the breach. He couldn’t imagine what she could be doing other than giving them all an uncontested attack at her back. Then, he saw the woman in red standing in the shadows on the staircase and understood. Brienne was willing to do anything to get at the witch. As he watched, she used her blade like a lance and charged straight ahead, burying it in the woman’s chest.

“Forward,” he called to Loras as they both tried to draw the attention of guards away from Brienne. He attacked the two to the left with swift strikes aimed at the joints of their armor. Neither stuck flesh, but the men turned to face Jaime. Loras followed suit on the right, managing to draw a curse from the first man he attacked and a growl from the second.

The battle was close until Brienne rejoined striking from behind. A center guard went down, helm dented in a fatal looking way. They gradually overwhelmed the others, working as a team to pick them off one at a time. Again, this didn’t sit entirely right with Jaime. A true knight of the king’s guard should have been able to hold his own against fighters even as talented as Brienne and Loras. Could Stannis have lost all his best men at the Battle of the Blackwater?

Brienne let out a squeal of agony. Jaime was at her side at once, checking for wounds. She was bleeding from a slice to her upper arm, but it didn’t seem serious. He knew better than to think she’d cry out over that.

“What is it, Wench? Where’s the injury?”

She pointed to the body of the woman she’d slain. Only the top of her dress was red, from the blood that had spilled from her chest. The rest was a demure grey. Her face was familiar: Selyse Baratheon, Stannis’ wife.

“I made a mistake. I thought she was the Red Woman. I was so eager to get revenge, I killed an innocent woman instead.” Had Jaime not known Brienne so well, he’d have thought she was bleeding out, her face had taken on such a ghastly pallor.

“No, Brienne. I saw her, too. She must have done some sort of glamour on Lady Baratheon. Another trick; a trap, like you said.”

“I should check upstairs, see if I can find Shireen.” Thinking about the girl got her moving again.

“Good, take Loras. I’ll make sure no one sees this,” Jaime said, gesturing toward Selyse’s body.

 

Brienne and Loras ascended the tower to the living quarters of the royal family. All the rooms but one were unlocked and empty of people. She knocked on the remaining door.

“Princess, are you in there?”

“Yes,” a young voice replied. “Who are you? I heard fighting.”

“You’re safe, Princess. We need to find your father.”

“Father left. Melisandre said he needed to go north. Mother and I are to stay here until he’s found a safe place for us.”

“Stannis is gone?”

“Yes, they sailed off yesterday, except for Melisandre. She had to wait for someone.”

“Oh,” said Brienne.

“That explains why there are so few soldiers,” Loras muttered, “we missed them by a day.”

“Did she take Ser Davos?” Shireen asked. “She was upset with him before. I’m afraid she wants to burn him, but I told her she mustn’t. He’s my friend.”

“I am pleased to tell you Ser Davos is safe, Princess. Let us secure the castle and we’ll fetch him for you,” Brienne said. She shrugged at Loras. “We might as well. She’ll want to see a familiar face, now especially.”

Brienne and Loras climbed to the top of the tower. They met no more guards and could see only a scattered few remaining from their vantage point. Brienne thought she might be able to make out some ships sailing north, but in the darkness it was hard to be sure. They returned to Jaime on the ground floor landing. He had tidied up as best he could, but there were still some tell-tale bloodstains on the stairs.

“I’m going to release Ser Davos from prison to help with Shireen,” Brienne told him.

“Good idea. You and Loras do that, and sweep up as many of the remaining soldiers as you can. I’ll guard the girl.”

 

Jaime had been dreading this moment, and that was when he thought he could do it with no one the wiser. It had made sense when Cersei spelled it out. Even if Stannis were dead, his daughter would be a potential figurehead for their enemies to rally around. Logically, if Stannis was Robert’s true heir, then Shireen was Stannis’. Besides, she was just a little girl with greyscale, probably half insane. What was her life worth compared to the future of their family?

Brienne, though. Brienne was not going to understand. Her thickness seemed to give her a remarkable immunity to clever machinations. He could see no possible argument that would get Brienne to agree with slitting the throat of a child. He’d have to kill her, and Davos, probably Loras, and well, it was already getting ridiculous. In truth, imagining the disappointment in her pure, blue eyes made Jaime question how he’d come to agree with the scheme in the first place.

He knocked on the girl’s door. “Princess? I need you to put on warm traveling clothes and gather anything you want to have with you for the next little while. You’re going to take a trip with us.” Where that would be exactly, Jaime didn’t know.

 

Brienne unlocked Ser Davos’ cell; Loras prodded the two guards they’d captured to step inside.

“Don’t worry, lads,” Loras said trying to sound older than his years, “If you give us no trouble, you’ll have no trouble.” The castle was so lightly garrisoned, he suspected that the three of them could capture it without much further loss of life if all the men showed the sense to surrender.

Brienne untied Ser Davos. His mood was notably subdued.

“Is it done, then?” he asked.

“Stannis and Melisandre have fled to the north with most of Stannis’ remaining army. His daughter remains here, safe.”

Davos slumped, unable to hide his relief. He hated to give the Red Woman any credit, but from what he’d seen from this lot earlier, Stannis had escaped death by hours. However, Brienne’s next statement undid the lift in his mood.

“Ser Jaime will probably want to use Shireen as a hostage against Stannis,” Brienne continued. She had mixed feelings about this. Hostages were a common and time-tested method for ensuring the good behavior of another lord. However, in this case, the sides were already at open war. It seemed far too easy for someone to escalate the situation to the point that Shireen could actually be killed.

“Shireen must not go to King’s Landing,” Davos said, as if reading her mind. In fact, he was horrified she’d even consider it. Probably, he told himself, she didn’t realize the magnitude of Shireen’s threat to the crown for Cersei’s bastards.

“Perhaps, it’s not the safest place for a child like her,” Brienne conceded. She hadn’t yet countenanced a murder plot, but as a ward of the crown, Shireen could be re-educated, disciplined, even forcibly married. There was also the greyscale...an ugly little girl at court. Brienne could empathize.

“What about the boy?” Davos asked. He had mistrusted Melisandre’s intentions about the boy ever since she’d gone to such lengths to take the castle he’d been sheltered in. Davos was sure she had more in mind for him than making a few magic leeches.

“What boy?” Brienne asked.

“Edric Storm, Robert’s bastard. His rooms are right across from Shireen’s.”

“He was gone, then. Those rooms were empty.”

“Damn the witch! Do you know about king’s blood? Stannis would never burn Shireen, but Edric is another kettle of fish entirely.”

They raced back to the Sea Dragon tower, Brienne realizing that the threats to Shireen had been but another trick, a distraction so Melisandre could retrieve her true target.

Shireen opened her door to Davos, favoring her Onion Knight with a hug and an kiss. Davos' brusque demeanor softened in her presence. He explained that the castle wasn't safe for her any longer, and sent her off to pack a small trunk for their journey.

“If we can take the castellan, we can demand his surrender. Perhaps no more lives need to be lost tonight,” Jaime suggested.

“Ser Alester Florent was the King’s Hand, but you have a problem there,” Davos said. “He was in prison with me until recently. Then the Red Woman pulled him out to be sacrificed to her god. I’m afraid the chain of command has gotten a bit loose since the Blackwater.”

“Does everyone know you were in prison?” Jaime asked.

“No, I went from returning here after being rescued from a shipwreck to trying to murder Melisandre to the confines of the cell in a single afternoon. It was quite a day.”

“Then, so far as the regular soldiers are concerned, you’re still one of Stannis’ lieutenants. No one would be surprised if he’d left you as castellan.”

“You’re proposing I surrender the castle to you in Stannis’ name?”

“Yes. It will save lives. We’re more than a match for any of these remaining men. Let them live to go back to their farms or whatever someday.” Jaime’s sympathy for the common man could use some work, Davos reflected, but he had a point.

“What do I get out of this bargain?” Davos asked.

Brienne spoke up, “I’ll help you get Shireen somewhere safe, far from King’s Landing.”

Davos held out his hand, quick to accept her proposal. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

After some discussion, they agreed that Loras would remain at Dragonstone. He’d bring over the men at arms who accompanied them to help him garrison the castle. Once a raven arrived at King’s Landing with the news that the castle was taken but the royal family had escaped, the crown was sure to send relief and reinforcements.

Brienne, Jaime, Davos and Shireen would be taking what Brienne called ‘the long way’ back to King’s Landing, letting Davos and Shireen off during the trip.

“Where will you be dropping us?” Davos asked.

“Where do you think?” Brienne replied.

“Oh, I see. I do hope your father is the forgiving type.”

 


	13. Tarth

The Sapphire Isle drew near. It was a place of contrasts; beaches and high waterfalls. Stormy grey sea off its east coast and crystal blue water in the west. Evenfall Hall glowed on top of the highest bluff, all white marble and stained glass. Not altogether a ghastly rock, Jaime had to admit.

Brienne was smiling unconsciously, smelling the familiar air and allowing her old instincts to take over. She guided the sailboat Davos had requisitioned from Dragonstone with deft skill. Davos would have led them into the caves where there were derelict smuggling tunnels, but Brienne went straight for the harbor.

As she adjusted the boom, Brienne leaned back to take in the sights. Jaime noticed that her hair had grown long enough to fall in waves onto her neck. He reached forward to tousle them.

“You need a haircut,” he said, “If you’re not careful, you’ll start to look like a woman.”

Davos arched an eyebrow at the intimacy. They hadn’t been at all lovey-dovey on Dragonstone when they’d debated whether or not to kill him. On the other hand, as he recalled, the climate of Tarth had a certain influence on young people.

“She is a woman, silly,” laughed Shireen.

Jaime did a startled double take, “No!” he said. “What sort of a woman wears armor and carries a sword?”

“Visenya did. She had a valyrian steel sword called Dark Sister and rode her dragon, Vhagor in the conquest. They burned the Arryn fleet and she fought hand-to-hand on the Field of Fire until Torren Stark bent the knee at the Trident.”

Jaime bent his head in deference. “I stand corrected. Quite the young scholar we have here.”

Davos beamed, “She’s read more books than I’ve had hot meals. And she’s a fine teacher, too.”

Brienne’s eyes had gotten soft as Shireen recited her favorite story. “I loved that story, as well. I have a beautiful book on Aegon's conquest I can give you to read during your journey.”

“Is that why you wanted to be a knight?”

“Yes, I suppose that had something to do with it.” Brienne’s romantic image of knighthood had taken some body blows lately. Some anointed knights had used her for sport and faced no consequences, others had abused the weak or proven cowardly. One well-known disgraced knight had treated her nothing but honorably, and people still hissed behind his back. It was confusing. Still, there was a core of noble purpose in knighthood, and she would strive to meet it, no matter what others called her.

Brienne tied up the boat and helped Jaime and Shireen disembark. She and Davos unloaded their gear until a man from the harbor recognized her and offered to help.

“My lady, should I send word to the castle that you have arrived, with guests?”

“That would be very kind, thank you.”

Jaime chuckled hearing Brienne accept the title of Lady. There was no fighting it here, he supposed. The people of Tarth were apparently accustomed to her ways, so that their cross-dressed Lady unloading arms and armor only attracted the mildest attention.

 

Evenfall’s beauty lay not in its size, but its intricacy. Everywhere there were fine carvings, detailed inlays, and fascinating images rendered in mosaic tiles. It was not the best fit for Brienne who made ordinary items look small, and entirely eclipsed tiny decorations.

“Brienne, my precious daughter. What brings you home besides love of your poor, old father?” Brienne's father was not quite as large as her, but he was hale and hearty and did not look his 50-some years. Jaime noted that his hair was an ashy blonde, like Tywin's, but that was the only resemblance between their fathers. Selwyn Tarth was broader, moved more languidly, and radiated a loving warmth that made Jaime look away.

“I have so much to tell you, Father. Let our guests refresh themselves while we speak.” Thus vouched for, Jaime, Davos, and Shireen enjoyed Tarth hospitality while Brienne recounted her adventures thus far. She left out only such irrelevancies as drinking herself unconscious with the notorious Imp and enjoying the services of a prostitute.

Brienne was sure that her father would grant her the favor of equipping Davos and Shireen for a voyage to parts unknown. All they would need was a little money and secrecy. She brought up the matter once their guests had been shown to their rooms.

“She’s in danger, Father. As Stannis’ daughter, at best she’s a hostage for the crown. At worst, well, you know what happens to little girls when cities are sacked. Ser Davos is a loyal friend to her. He’ll keep her safe. He has special skills for traveling surreptitiously.”

“I remember Davos. Slippery devil. Your mother caught him once, here. Tore apart his ship to the point it damn near sank looking for hidden holds.”

“I don’t know who else to trust with her. Tarth is too close to the capitol for her to stay here. Her mother’s dead. The castle’s fallen. Her father is under the sway of a fanatical red priestess.”

“I trust your judgment. We’ll let them rest tonight and launch them early tomorrow morning." Most of the Storm Lords had gone over to Stannis, but Tarth had remained neutral. This decision demonstrated loyalty to no one and was utterly selfless. Selwyn smiled. Brienne would never change.

 

Brienne chose to take a bath before dinner. She scrubbed and relaxed, enjoying the simple pleasures of her household. Their tub was old-fashioned, deep with a narrow mouth. The tubs in King’s Landing, where she could properly stretch her legs, were objectively more comfortable. Still, the familiarity was soothing in its own way. She let the fear, pain, frustration, confusion, and anxiety all float away.

As Brienne was leaving the bathing room, she noticed Jaime approaching.

“If you’re going to have a bath, wait a moment. I’ll bring you a fresh towel and robe.”

Jaime nodded at her, and she left to fetch the items. When she returned, she was surprised indeed to see that Jaime had already gotten into the tub. He was trying to figure out a comfortable position for his legs that left the majority of him submerged in the warm water. It took a little trial and error.

“I said wait a moment, not to go ahead and get undressed,” she chided him. She tried to lay the towel and robe down within his reach without looking at him too closely. This was complicated by the fact that the more she saw, the more closely she wanted to look. Distinctly non-sibling like emotions surged through her body. His face was as handsome as ever. Now she could also see his well-defined shoulders and torso. His chest was covered with sprigs of golden hair that looked so soft and curly she wanted to run her fingers through them. Even his little nipples were enticing. At the water line-

“Brienne! What are you doing in here?” A hatchet-faced woman whom Brienne had not been looking forward to seeing again broke her train of thought.

“Septa, I was…I was-“

“Get out of there immediately. Your father will know about this.” Jaime absorbed a scolding stare from the woman as Brienne retreated.

 

Dinner was a jolly affair, at first. Selwyn Tarth delighted in having Brienne back home. She talked more than usual, telling mainly merry stories about her adventures. Lord Tarth took joy from hearing them, even as she tried to diminish her own importance. Jaime pitched in on a few of the later ones, especially the escape from Harrenhal and the Battle of Blackwater. She fought brilliantly, he’d proclaimed, saving his life and possibly the king’s. She waved it off, but there was no hiding her gratitude.

Davos proved a charming guest, with an anecdote for every occasion. Shireen treasured the book Brienne gave her and began reading passages at the dining table. Davos told her to put the book down and eat in such a bored, paternal way that Brienne instantly felt more confident about her decision to send them off together.

After dinner, Lord Tarth asked Brienne to stay for a moment. Jaime could see his concerned expression and figured this was the upshot of the bath incident. He wasn’t yelling, like Tywin would have been, just seriously explaining something to her. Jaime wondered if she’d take that harder than yelling.

Jaime found her later, in a tower stairwell. She was watching the harbor activities by the light of an almost full moon. He shuffled his feet as he approached, not wanting to startle her.

“How much trouble are you in?” he asked.

“A lot,” she said, eyebrows lifting to emphasize her point. “But don’t worry, I explained that you did nothing improper. The fault was entirely mine.”

It seemed absurd to hear her say that she could be guiltier in something than he. “Fault for what? You didn’t do anything either.”

“I was peeking,” she confessed shyly. “At your chest.”

It was lucky she hadn’t been peeking under the water, Jaime thought, or she’d have gotten a big, throbbing surprise. The warm, humid air blowing across the bay put him in mind of springtime. It was leading him to think very springtime thoughts even about a woman he used to consider barely a woman at all.

That seemed foolish now. She looked so soft by moonlight. Her fair hair seemed to glow like a halo. He could see the arresting blue of her eyes even in the dim light. His lips were on hers without, as far as he could tell, his conscious decision.

A part of Brienne's mind she’d never heard from before spoke up. It tentatively mentioned that she could take him upstairs. Her rooms were in this tower; they wouldn't pass anyone else. The kiss continued to deepen. She became weak and light-headed from it. Not weak, exactly. Tingly. And not light-headed like she would faint, but excited and nervous.

Way in the back of her consciousness, an alarm horn sounded. “Hey,” a different inner voice spoke up, “One question. Do you know what would be worse than taking that humiliating exam Father is forcing on you tomorrow? Hmm? FAILING the humiliating exam. Maybe with some fresh seed inside you just to make sure everyone knows everything. You wouldn’t leave the island again while Father still lived.” Her mind, which had been full of warm mist, suddenly cleared.

She broke the kiss. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.” She fled up the stairs to her bedroom, unable to pretend that her panting breath and pounding heart came from the climb.

_You are the biggest idiot on the face of the earth,_ they both thought at varying times that night. Jaime, when he realized that he would have happily kept going and likely gotten Brienne into even bigger trouble before he was done. He had no delusions about stopping himself in time; his cock stood tall and proud just thinking about it. Brienne, as she examined the glimmering possibility that Jaime had felt something for her – not just any woman in that moment – but her specifically. He had kissed her. _He_ had kissed _her_.

 

Septa Roelle was to do the exam. Mercifully, Father wasn’t there, and even more so, Jaime didn’t know. It would be fine. She was innocent. There was nothing to fear. It would only take a minute.

She lay back on the cold, stone table, trying not to tremble.

“Don’t be nervous. Unless you want to admit your transgressions and save me the trouble of the exam.”

“I’m not nervous; I’m cold. There have been no improprieties.”

Roelle scoffed. “We’ll see.” She bent to examine her. She let out an ambiguous “hmm.”

Despite herself, Brienne started to panic. _I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch…myself. Alayaya didn’t, I’m pretty sure. I tried to keep track of her hands, I-_

Cersei’s voice spoke in her mind, clear and calculating. “You need to tell her what she wants to hear. There’s no time for belligerent pride. Tell her you know better than to fall for the lies of men, including the man you’re traveling with. If she thinks you hold out any hope for his love, then to her, you might as well have already spread for him. She will fail you and you’ll never leave this island again. Recite her old advice back to her.”

Brienne cleared her throat. “I know better than to trust men. Any men. They all lie. The mirror gives me all the truth I can handle. I am no man’s fool.” The words tasted greasy in her mouth.

“Good to hear it,” Roelle said, “and good to see you have been behaving properly at least in one respect.”

Brienne couldn’t bring herself to thank her, so she just dipped her head, pulled on her smallclothes, and left.

 

“You should come inside, else you might develop some spots on your flawless skin.” _Here's an idea: don't be an ass. Just throwing it out there._

“Soon, I wanted to take one last walk on the beach.” _Oh gods, he's so beautiful. It's like I can see him through his clothes. Why didn't I keep my eyes shut?_

“Davos and Shireen get underway?” _We do good things together. We are good together._

“Yes, this morning.” _See, business. He does not feel about you the way you feel about him._

“Did you sort everything out with your father?” _You're coming with me, right?_

“Yes.” _Thank the gods I didn't do...what I wanted to do...the other night. But what if it happens again?_

“No...problems?” _You're coming with me, RIGHT?_

“We're fine. I'm to go to King's Landing to officially bend the knee. He's given me a letter of fealty to deliver. I'm also to attend the king's wedding.” _King's Landing, perfect, because things never get out of hand at King's Landing._

“Bring a dress; something with your house colors.” _Especially blue._

“I know how to dress for a wedding, thank you.” _Don't think about weddings, dunce._

“No swords.” _A little teasing is not being an ass. It's not!_

“Yes, I know, thank you.” _Please leave me alone; I'll get over it if you leave me alone._

“See you back at the castle, then.” _Cersei is not going to be pleased._

“In a bit.” _Cersei is going to see right through me._

_You are the biggest idiot in the history of the world._

 


	14. King's Landing VII - The Goodsister

The fastest way to King’s Landing was by a merchant ship that had stopped to trade in Tarth. There were two available cabins, each easily large enough for two people to share. Lord Tarth rather pointedly paid for both. Brienne couldn’t bring herself to resent his overprotectiveness. A lot could have gone wrong spending several nights in confined quarters with Jaime on choppy seas. Or right, depending on her frame of mind.

Brienne didn’t enjoy keeping secrets from Jaime. They loved and trusted each other, but he would never love another woman, never love anyone, the way he loved Cersei. The depth of Brienne’s affections would surely prove unwelcome and unreciprocated. If she confessed them, it could change everything: their friendly camaraderie, judgement-free discussions, her freedom to watch him change shirts. Gods, she wished whatever had awakened in her on Tarth would slumber again. No sign of that happening though, as her breath caught on spying him above decks, somehow looking rugged and courtly at the same time.

Jaime watched the sun dip below the horizon. King’s Landing was becoming visible in the distance; they would arrive by morning. Brienne came to stand beside him, unconsciously leaning into his body. He rested an arm around the small of her back and pulled her closer. He could feel both her soft skin and toned muscles through her tunic. He was glad she wasn’t wearing armor. He would just as soon see her in even less, but understood her decision to pull back. Cersei was likely to be upset in any event, never mind if it had gone further.

“We should talk,” he told her.

Heart sinking, she locked her expressive eyes into his. She knew he was right, but had hoped they could avoid a painful discussion. “I know. We probably shouldn’t mention the kiss to anyone. It was from… comfort and… relief anyway. Not p-passion.”

_Gods, she is such a terrible liar_. Her maiden’s crush was flattering, but someone as pure-hearted as her could never truly love the man he was inside. “It will be fine, Brienne. Try not to worry. It’d be a shame to taint such a delightful memory. There is something more urgent to discuss.”

_Delightful? Delightful. Wait, what?_ He was holding her too closely for her to think clearly. How the hells had that even happened? “Um…what was that?”

“We need to practice your report on the events at Dragonstone. Pretend I’m Cersei.”

Brienne stepped back and took a few breaths to get her head around the new topic. “I thought we discussed all this with Loras. We’re going to say that the royal family had already sailed north. The witch escaped by magic. No one else of note was in the castle.”

“Yes, that’s correct. I’m not worried about Loras; he grew up with The Queen of Thorns. You need to practice. Come on, say it.”

“We were able to take the castle because most of the force had sailed north. The witch escaped. The…royal family…wasn’t at ….home.”

Jaime tried not to laugh. “Try it again. Look at my eyes this time.”

“The royalfamily wasn’t athome.”

“Slower. Stand up straight.”

“The royal family wasn’t at home.”

“Uncross your arms. Don’t mumble.”

“The royal family wasn’t at home.”

“Don’t look up! Right in the eyes. Take a breath first.”

“The royal family wasn’t at home.”

“Better! Watch your shoulders. Again.”

 

The docks at King’s Landing were sparsely populated even at midday, when Brienne and Jaime disembarked. Only a few merchant vessels were yet willing to venture into the wrecked harbor. None of the larger ships from Essos had docked since the Battle of Blackwater. Prices for everything, especially food, were sky high. Beggars lined the streets all the way back to the keep, and there was a true sense of hunger and desperation in the air.

“Jaime, the king needs to do something for the people or his own city will be his biggest threat.”

“Highgarden is sending food. That’s why the marriage between Joffrey and Margaery was agreed upon in such haste. They’ll feed our poor and in return gain powerful influence on the crown. The great game begins a new round.”

Tyrion was the first person of interest Jaime saw at the keep. He stepped forward eagerly to embrace his beloved brother and was surprised at Tyrion’s unusually somber expression.

Tyrion said, “I may as well tell you now, you’ll be meeting my wife at dinner this evening. Sansa Stark is now Sansa Lannister, on Father’s orders. Joffrey gave the bride away in the place of her father. It was…marvelous.”

“Congratulations,” Brienne started to say, but it died halfway out of her mouth from the look on Jaime’s face.

“What happened?” Jaime asked, suddenly serious.

“The Tyrells. They weren’t satisfied with snaring the king; they also wanted to marry Sansa to their Willas, the crippled heir to Highgarden.”

“The Reach plus the North, influence on the crown…”

“Right. I was the best solution to hand. Father also offered Cersei for Willas, but Mace Tyrell turned him down.”

“Oh gods.”

“So it’s been pleasant here while you were away. At least you captured Dragonstone; that was unexpected. You’ve cut off any retreat from the North.”

“Stannis isn’t coming back from the North,” Brienne said, rather distantly.

“O-kay. I won’t keep you; I’m sure you’re eager to reunite with the queen.”

 

“We infiltrated the castle and proceeded toward the living quarters slaying every guard we encountered. Stannis’ witch, a priestess of the Red God, it turns out, gave us some trouble and escaped.” _Breath. Shoulders. Hands. Eyes._ It was like sparring, but with words; there was so much to keep track of at once. “Unfortunately, Stannis and his family were no longer in the castle, Your Grace. We forced the castellan to surrender Dragonstone and left Ser Loras to hold it until he is relieved.”

“Anything to add, Lord Commander?” Cersei asked.

“Only that if you thought I was reckless in combat, you should see her. Someone needs to tell this wench that armor doesn’t stop everything.”

“I trusted you had my back, and you did. Besides, if that had really been the witch, you’d be thanking me.”

“Shadow magic; it made some of the battles very confusing. Still, the crown once again controls Dragonstone, and Stannis can no longer retreat from the North.”

“Very good. You are to be commended. Go refresh yourself, Lord Commander. We will talk more later. Brienne, a word.”

Jaime locked eyes with Brienne as he turned to leave, doing his best to project a calm, steadying influence. He gave her a confident nod as he closed the door behind him.

“Are you hiding something from me, Lady Brienne?”

~~~

 

Tyrion had tried to warn her, but Brienne visibly started when Sansa joined the Lannister table that evening. She looked back and forth in shock between the young woman barely flowered and her usually sensible brother, Tyrion.

“Who is she?” Sansa softly asked her husband.

“Oh her. She’s the family’s conscience made manifest in the form of a lumbering, ox-sized woman.” He banged his fist on the table to draw Brienne’s attention. “Will you shut up and eat?”

“I haven’t said a word,” Brienne replied. “And I don’t lumber.”

“Your judgmental glares are doing plenty of talking.” Tyrion sighed. “It hasn’t been consummated. I know she’s too young for me. Neither of us was given a choice.”

“That’s good to know.” Brienne tried to reorient herself. She stood and bowed to young Lady Sansa. “My name is Brienne of Tarth. If I can do anything to make you more comfortable here, please let me know.”

Brienne sat and started on her meal, feeling put out. She hadn’t seen Jaime since their report and had expected him at dinner, so she was annoyed that he wasn’t here. She’d only managed a few bites before her mouth dropped open in shock as a gentle hand trailed across her back. Dark lips whispered in her ear, and Sansa and Tyrion watched her skin tone rapidly evolve from eggshell pale to Lannister crimson. Alayaya smiled coyly and exited to the kitchen.

“I couldn’t quite hear. Did she say she wouldn’t charge you?” Tyrion asked.

“No,” Brienne blatantly lied. “It’s not like that,” she tried to explain to Sansa.

“It’s exactly like that,” Tyrion countered. He hopped out of his seat, barely dodging a kick.

Brienne shot him a renewed glare. “Don’t you remember your father said no,” she glanced at his delicate young wife, “H-O-R-E-S in the keep?”

Sansa snickered. “There’s meant to be a W in the front.”

“Oh.” Brienne swallowed. “Well, you know what I meant. She shouldn’t be here. Your father will have her whipped.”

“Relax. She only came to borrow a book; she’s learning to read. I should start a school – reading lessons for her and spelling lessons for you.”

“I can spell. I just didn’t happen to run across that word in anything I’ve read is all. Perhaps your wife is a better match for you than I thought.”

They ate in silence for a while. Sansa was amazed at both how much wine her husband could drink without appearing affected and how much food this Brienne of Tarth could put away. Apparently no one had ever told her to watch her girlish figure. When they were all almost ready to retire, Jaime Lannister sauntered over to the table. He gave them a quick bow and sat next to Brienne.

“Wench, did you save me a drumstick?”

“No. If you want your favorite choices, be here at the appropriate time.” Her aggrieved mien didn’t entirely hide her pleasure at seeing him again.

“Fine. Give me some breast then.”

“I will not…oh, um, I saw it first.”

“Arm wrestle you for it.”

“You’re on.”

Sansa watched in growing confusion as the pair locked arms, Brienne started to win, Jaime tickled her in the belly, she called him a cheater, and tried to stuff a roll in his ear. Sansa turned again to her husband.

“Are they…courting?”

“Shh, don’t spoil the surprise. Let’s go upstairs. Those idiots can figure it out for themselves.”

 

“Where were you?” Brienne asked, after Jaime had stolen her trencher and she realized she’d lost her appetite.

“I was with Cersei, discussing events on Tarth. Ones you specifically planned not to tell her about.”

“I had to distract her from…the other thing. I’m sorry.”

“Well, fine. Just know I might have said some not particularly nice things about you. Things I didn’t mean.” He took her hand. She squeezed it to show no hard feelings.

“What did she do when you told her?” Jaime asked, genuinely curious. Cersei must not have raged; Brienne would be acting more distressed.

 

> ~~~
> 
> “Are you hiding something from me, Lady Brienne?”
> 
> _I’m sorry, Jaime. It’s for Shireen._ Brienne squirmed a moment before she answered. That much came naturally. “Ser Jaime kissed me, while we were on Tarth. It was a warm night, and there was moonlight-”
> 
> Cersei drew in a sharp breath. “I see. Did you like it?”
> 
> _Breath. Shoulders. Hands. Eyes._ “A little bit.”
> 
> “Only a little? Poor confused girl.”
> 
> The queen’s lips were on hers in an instant. _You knew that was going to happen; they’re too alike for it not to. Now come on, do what you have to do._ Brienne parted her lips and let her tongue caress Cersei’s. It was different. Softer. Weaker. She was much stronger than Cersei. She found herself taking control of the kiss, pushing the queen until Cersei’s back hit the wall. Her hands roamed down from the queen’s waist to cup the swells of her buttocks. _Dial it back, for the god’s sakes!_
> 
> Cersei separated from her, lips curled in amusement. “That was more like it, hmm?”
> 
>  

“The same thing you did. On Tarth.”

“Ah!” That was a surprise. Then again, Cersei always had to stake her territory. “I suppose it can’t hurt for you to get closer with the queen.”

“If we get any closer, she’ll be inside of me,” Brienne replied with just the tiniest edge of panic in her voice.

Jaime snorted. “If you don’t like that idea, you might want to avoid her the night of Joffrey’s wedding. She has plans for you.” The plans were intriguing; Jaime wouldn’t say he was against them at all. However, it wasn’t the kind of thing you should spring on a maid by surprise.

“I figured she would want you with her after the feast.”

“Yes,” Jaime drawled. Thus the crux of the surprise. “You know, she has the rather firm idea that such attention from her would welcome indeed.”

“I think I did a pretty good job of fooling her,” Brienne said, proud that she’d managed to apply Jaime’s lessons when they’d counted.

Since most of what Jaime knew about deception he’d learned from Cersei, he had his doubts. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“I mean, she’s a beautiful enough woman. Golden hair, striking eyes, nice…um…butt.”

“You are attracted to her!”

“No, I’m not. It’s just that she reminds me a lot of you.” _Did I say that out loud? That was supposed to stay on the inside!_ Brienne’s eyes widened at her mistake. She opened her mouth to say something – she was joking or the curtains were on fire – anything to change the subject.

Jaime didn’t let her get a word in, however, stopping her mouth with a kiss. For the first time he could remember, Jaime had found something he didn’t want to share with his twin.

 


	15. King's Landing VIII - News from Abroad

The gardens near the Maidenvault had begun to be known as Little Highgarden. The Tyrell ladies and their assorted hangers-on congregated there on every temperate day. Their conversations and laughter could be heard throughout much of the keep. They imported so many freshly blooming flowers that visitors felt that were entering a stretch of late spring, rather than early autumn.

Brienne had no idea why Lady Tyrell had invited her to tea. She stood, waiting for acknowledgment, too intimidated to even attempt to curtsy. The small, wizened woman seemed to peer straight into her soul, reading every deed or thought written there. Far from being able to make good use of Jaime’s training on hiding the truth, it was taking her best efforts just to keep her arms at her sides. She wanted to cross them over her chest, as if to hide her nakedness. Far from arriving unclad, of course, Brienne was wearing one of her nicest dresses, a recent gift from either Jaime or Cersei – she’d yet to figure out which. It was blue, with long daggered sleeves and fine embroidery. Close inspection showed the designs to be stylized swords and morningstars, a loving detail which usually boosted her confidence when she had to leave her armor behind. It was failing her at the moment, and she felt she might catch fire if the Lady inspected her for much longer.

”Aren’t you just marvelous! Absolutely singular! Have you ever seen the like, Margaery?”

“Grandmama, Lady Brienne and I met when she served in Renly’s Rainbow Guard.”

Brienne nearly jumped out of her skin as her past and future queen spoke from behind her. Lady Margaery had arrived silently in delicate silk slippers, a low cut summer dress, and a smile that emphasized her charming dimples.

“Oh yes, I hear you knocked my grandson into the dirt like the silly little boy he is.”

A tiny grin broke through Brienne’s demeanor. She had earned her place with King Renly that day and, even with all that came afterwards, the memory still caused her to swell with pride.

“Loras is a gifted swordsman. He was chiefly responsible for the successful taking of Dragonstone.”

“Yes, because he is so familiar with backdoors. He owes you quite an apology, I hear.”

“We’ve made our peace, my Lady.”

“Good. Sit, refresh yourself. Margaery?”

“Lady Brienne, I know you’re close with the Lord Commander. I was hoping you’d put in a word for Loras to be appointed to the King’s Guard. I believe there’s been a vacancy since that Clegane fellow deserted. It would ease my heart ever so much to see his face every day since I’ll be living so far from home.”

Margaery and Loras had agreed that this was the best way to protect her from Joffrey’s temperament. The only obstacle would be if Brienne insisted on marriage as apology for the false accusation. Olenna said to let him go ahead and marry her; she'd find a way to keep Joffrey in line. Margaery cared far too much for her grandmother to put her in Joffrey's way, however, and besides, Brienne did not seem to be any more interested in Loras than he was in her.

“I would speak for Ser Loras; he is a talented young knight. But, Lady Margaery, please know that we haven’t given up. I am determined to attain justice for Renly's murder, and I know Loras feels the same. Once we learn where Stannis has landed-“

“Thank you, Lady Brienne. I know I can trust in your word.”

There was a certain coldness in her tone when she spoke about Renly, as if she’d already put his death behind her and closed the door. Brienne had always assumed Margaery must be tormented by the same demons that plagued her, desperate to see justice done. However, this was a woman who lay next to such a wonderful man night after night and agreed not to consummate the marriage. Maybe she never loved him at all. Unbidden, memories of lying next to Jaime flicked through her mind. How many times had they shared a bed, or blanket by the campfire with nothing untoward occurring to either of them? Perhaps she wasn’t one to talk.

 

Sansa and Tyrion weren’t at breakfast. That wasn’t so odd by itself, as Tyrion often slept late and Sansa seemed to have little appetite. Normally Brienne wouldn’t mind being alone with Jaime, not in the slightest. This morning, however, Jaime was also not his usual talkative self. Brienne could hear her own jaws chewing. It was unnatural.

“Has something happened?” she asked.

Jaime tensed, then forced himself calm. She was going to find out one way or another. It may as well be now, from him.

“We’ve received news from the Riverlands. Walder Frey held a wedding feast at the Twins for his daughter Roslin to marry Edmure Tully. Robb Stark, Lady Catelyn Stark, almost all his bannermen, and much of his host were in attendance. After Roslin and Edmure were sent off to bed,” Jaime looked up into Brienne’s eyes. So innocent. It would never occur to her. She would have died there with a fork halfway to her mouth, unable to believe what was unfolding.

“What? Was there a drunken brawl? Was Lady Stark injured?” Poor Sansa, if her mother was hurt and she couldn’t go to her.

“Lady Stark is dead. As is Robb Stark, and the rest. The Freys slaughtered them all.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh, I assure you, a room full of drunk Northmen are no match for a crossbow ambush. It wasn’t only possible; it was easy.”

“They've broken the most sacred of laws! The Freys murdered guests in their home, at a wedding? What could possibly have been worth destroying the honor of their family name?”

“There are a lot of Freys. Their section of the Riverlands hasn’t been large enough to hold them for some time now.”

“So this was a way to conquer the Tully lands? No one will respect their claim.”

“Why not? Edmure’s the heir; married to a Frey. He can parcel the lands and titles out how he pleases. Since he’s presently in their custody, I expect many Freys to come into new inheritances soon.”

“It’s grotesque. We should ask the king to negotiate for his release.”

_Gods, of course, she doesn’t even suspect._ “Brienne…”

“Perhaps that would earn good will with the Tullys so that they’d-“

“Brienne! Whose idea do you think it was? My father’s, or I’ll eat my sword. It’s a typical Tywin masterstroke: having one's enemies fight amongst themselves and then thank him for the privilege. The King in the North is dead, and his army will swiftly melt away. The Tullys won’t carry on the fight, not with their heir in custody. The Freys may gain some status but the stain on their reputation ensures no one trusts them ever again. Face it; the crown won this one from afar.”

“But…” Brienne couldn’t think of what to say. That it was corrupt, dishonorable? He knew that yet still seemed to support his father’s action.

“There’s no rulebook for war. It’s over now, and the people can go back to their lives.” He had to force himself to hold her gaze, but even so, couldn’t bring himself to say it may have been for the best.

“What of Lady Sansa? She’s married to your brother.”

“Her presence here is another reason for any remaining Stark or Tully loyalists to tread lightly. My father only sees cyvasse pieces, not people. She’ll be protected, though, so long as she keeps her head down.” Was that true? He hoped so, but probably only until Father grew impatient with Tyrion’s lack of an heir.

“We have to do better for her than that.”

“You can’t help her, Brienne.”

“Oh, can’t I?” she replied, donning a stubborn, judgmental glare.

Jaime ran his hands though his hair. _Well, that was your fault. You should know by now she takes saving the unsavable as a challenge._

 

“She was a strong woman. She would want you to carry on.” Sansa had been more pulled together than Brienne had expected. Women of the Stormlands tended toward histrionic displays of grief that always made her feel uncomfortable. The composure of Northern women was an admirable trait, in her opinion. “Remember the Tully words – ‘Family. Duty. Honor.’ – the first of those is Family. I know she was trying to reunite you and your sister.”

“You knew my mother?” Sansa asked, her expression hungry for a companion who could speak of her family in more than generalities.

Brienne paused, caught in a awkward position. “We met, briefly. To be honest, we didn’t really see eye to eye. I was serving King Renly at the time, and I suppose I was a very different sort of woman than she was used to.”

Sansa snorted, surprised into a graceless laugh. “That’s certainly true. Poor Arya. She should have been born to your family. Year after year she was forced to learn embroidery and singing rather than fighting.”

“No, my lady. My mother died when I was very young. I only had my father. The times weren't always the happiest. I also lost three siblings, a brother and two sisters. I understand how it feels like pieces of you are missing. It will feel that way a long time. But that’s why you have to keep fighting. It’s your duty keep them alive in your memory.”

“I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.”

“Pain means you care. Look at Margaery.” Sansa appeared puzzled; she and Margaery were friends. Brienne earnestly worked to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“King Renly, her husband, was murdered and I don’t believe she’s shed a genuine tear. Now she’s ready to marry Joffrey purely for the title. I don’t believe she cares for anyone other than herself. You were in her way, but she got around that. Then she tried to placate you with her brother, but the Lannisters outmaneuvered her. Now where is she? Consoling you or planning her wedding?”

“She sent flowers,” Sansa replied lamely.

“I know it can be hard to figure out who to trust. Perhaps because I’ve been falsely accused more than once myself, I’ve learned to put much more stock in what people do rather than what they say or their reputations. So, ask yourself, who has done the most to make your time here bearable.”

Sansa considered a long while. Brienne waited, pleased to show patience if it gave Sansa the time she needed. “Tyrion,” she admitted finally, “and my mother’s friend, Lord Baelish.”

 

Tyrion was so upset he couldn’t even drink. He wanted to dull the pain from the dark news, but he’d already vomited twice and he certainly wasn’t going to do so in front of Brienne. Obviously his father was behind what had happened, even she had to know it. What was done, was done though. How was he supposed to change it?

“Your wife is in a delicate state. She’s lost her mother and brother, as well as half the bannermen of her house, men that she grew up with as friends and uncles. She’s hanging on by her fingernails.”

“The family will protect her,” Tyrion mumbled. It was wishful thinking and they both knew it.

“The family did it. If she doesn’t know, she suspects.” There was a saying: when in Dorne, eat the noodles. If everything was politics in King’s Landing, Brienne would play along if that’s what it took to save her goodsister.

“If she keeps her peace, stays to herself, it will pass her by.”

“You think so? How well do you know your nephew? I think he’s going to make sport of her during his wedding. He’ll pick at her and taunt her and torment her until she has a public breakdown.”

She was basically right, though Tyrion expected Joffrey would want to see his public humiliation as well. Frustrated, he demanded, “What would you have me do?”

“Protect her! Isn’t that what you vowed on your wedding day? Take her somewhere safe, but neutral. Take her to her aunt in the Vale.”

“The Vale,” Tyrion scoffed. “Do you know what happened the last time I was in the Vale? Uncomfortable personal amenities aside, my father went to war to get me free.”

“That won’t happen again.”

“True. This time they’ll kill me straight away.”

“No, they won’t. Be reasonable. You’re doing them both a favor – getting Sansa somewhere safe and removing a hostage from the crown.”

“The crown, who is, for all intents and purposes, my father. He’ll be furious.”

Brienne shrugged. “He made her your wife. You get to do what you want with her. Be honest, aren’t you rather looking forward to seeing his reaction?”

“It’s not kind of you to encourage my self-destructive streak.”

“Lady Sansa is in no fit state of mind right now. She wants to travel with Lord Baelish, and I’m not so sure I trust him.”

“Good to know that lumpy bit between your ears works occasionally.”

“Lord Baelish will remain in the Vale to woo Lysa Arryn. Once Sansa is safe with her aunt, you can turn around and come home. It will help you in the long run too, you know. You couldn’t stand by and watch Joffrey amuse himself with her day after day. You’re going to snap and do something stupid. Any of us would.”

“I thought Lord Baelish had already departed.”

“He was supposed to, but a friend of mine ( _godsdamned ungovernable blushing_ ) told me that he was still at his business. I visited him there and may have mentioned you and Sansa were hoping to leave with him tomorrow.” Baelish had been a strange mix of pleased and distressed at that, Brienne recalled. She was missing something else there, but it would have to wait.

Tyrion finally downed his wine and gave it a moment to settle in. “I’ll do it, but only because I know you’ll go yourself if I don’t, and that actually would be treason.” _And, more fool me, I’m falling in love with my wife._

 


	16. King's Landing IX - Joffrey's Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change: T --> M

The queen hosted breakfast in her ballroom on the morning of Joffrey’s wedding. More intimate than the other scheduled events, it was restricted to around 100 guests featuring the Lannister and Tyrell families and their most important knights and retainers. The fare included honeycakes, crispy battered fish, and bacon pie with leeks and cheese. Though such a rich breakfast may seem peculiar to some given the feast later, no one could say that Cersei did not set a splendid table.

Brienne enjoyed the more casual atmosphere of this gathering, knowing that the wedding ceremony and feast afterward would be the height of royal formality. At the breakfast, everyone was in a merry mood and treated one another well, at least superficially. People mingled who ordinarily did not get along, like Mace Tyrell and Kevan Lannister. Brienne even observed Olenna Tyrell speaking with the Ellaria Sand of Dorne. Who would have thought haughty Lady Tyrell would speak with any of the Martell delegation, much less the bastard mother of bastards?

By tradition, gifts were offered to the couple separately at breakfast and jointly after the feast. Cersei began the ceremonial event by presenting Joffrey with the wife’s cloak that had been her mother’s. A purely crimson Lannister cloak, Brienne noted. Joffrey would be giving Margaery the surname Baratheon, but the heraldry held a mixed message. Because Tyrion had not yet returned from escorting Sansa to the Vale, Jaime presented Joffrey with the brilliantly illuminated tome Tyrion had chosen for him. Joffrey accepted it with ill grace, mollified somewhat by the golden riding spurs and corresponding cremello palfrey Jaime himself had brought. Brienne delivered a harpoon with mother-of-pearl inlay from Tarth. Joffrey enjoyed that gift, though Brienne felt the smile freeze on her face as he speculated which harmless sea mammals would die most interestingly on its point.

The most lavish gift came from Hand of the King and grandfather of the groom, Tywin Lannister. He laid a freshly reforged Valyrian steel sword before His Grace saying that a great king deserved to wield a sword worthy of his name. Joffrey recklessly hacked his way through several wooden tables and ceramic teapots while querying the assembled guests for the best name. ‘Widow’s Wail’ was the victor in his eyes, and he proudly buckled the newly christened sword around his waist.

Cersei justifiably deemed the morning a success. Brienne felt her hand on her shoulder, tracing the embroidery at her neckline.

Feeling bold, Brienne asked, “Did you stitch the designs yourself?”

“I did.” Cersei whispered, “Not everyone has a queen as a seamstress, you know.”

“I’ve never had a dress I loved before. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. You can visit tonight if you want,” Cersei said quickly before moving on.

Brienne held a frantic conversation in her own mind. _Any doubt as to what she meant by that? …No. And? …At least she asked; she didn’t order._

 

The full complement of the King’s Guard, including the newly inducted Ser Loras, was deployed around the sept in all their finery. Jaime as Lord Commander was closest to the king. His brothers hovered nearby Prince Tommen, Queen Cersei, the Hand, and other high-ranking nobles. Brienne was there as well, and even without cloak or sword, Jaime knew she’d die herself to prevent an assassin’s dagger or bolt from finding its target.

The ceremony proceeded smoothly. Joffrey played the part of a gracious bridegroom deeply in love with his intended lady. She looked like a porcelain doll in her ivory silk gown trimmed with Myrish lace. They said their seven vows, received their seven blessings, and exchanged their seven promises. Margaery received her wife’s cloak in place of her maiden one, the Lannister crimson reflecting onto her pale skin.

“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife,” Joffrey proclaimed on cue.

“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband,” replied Margaery.

They kissed long and deep, and Jaime could almost believe there was some real passion behind it. Say what you will about the Tyrells, they did more than go through the motions.

The High Septon proclaimed them “one flesh, one heart, and one soul.” The King’s Guard led the royal couple out of the sept, followed by the remainder of the Lannister and Tyrell families and the other guests. _Two events done, one yet to begin_ , thought Jaime, though he knew the feast would be the most trying by far.

 

A thousand guests, assorted singers, jugglers, servers, acrobats, and even a bear, it was enough to drive a King’s Guard to distraction. In addition, there were 77 courses of food, endless barrels of wine, and the rabble outside that the gold cloaks may or may not be able to contain. Jaime’s senses were in such a heightened state that he even noticed Olenna Tyrell slipping a small flask to her granddaughter. Though there was little and less chance that she intended to poison the newlywed queen, Jaime still stepped over to question her about it.

“Now, you wouldn’t fault a maid a sip of courage on the day of her wedding, would you?” Olenna asked.

_Give her another_ , Jaime thought, _if she’s to play the loving wife next to Joffrey for 77 courses_.

The young woman drank from the proffered flask and returned it quite empty. No chance of poison there.

“Sorry to disturb you, my Queen. Congratulations,” he said, moving away.

Brienne’s seat was at a place of honor below the royal dias, along with the Oberyn Martell and his paramour. Her father would be most pleased if he knew. She didn’t suppose she’d even truly be cut out for court life, but the way the Lannisters had made her one of their own was a kindness she didn’t think she could ever repay.

Oberyn Martell was watching her. His eyes held an expression that Brienne would call open lust if she didn’t know better.

“Have you ever traveled to Dorne, Lady Tarth?”

“I have, but not since I was a child.”

“Ah, well, it is an entirely different experience as an adult. There are so many more avenues open to behold, taste, and explore. You should come.”

“That would be nice, someday,” Brienne said. Oberyn must have touched his lady under the table, because she laughed wickedly as if Brienne had made a jest.

“Are you enjoying the wedding?” Brienne asked.

“I, personally, am more interested in what will come after. The justice I was promised for my sister Elia. How about you sweetling?” he asked Ellaria.

“It is decadent, of which I generally approve, but perhaps that is not so wise with half your city starving.”

Brienne nodded. She’d had similar concerns. “Queen Margaery has donated all the leftover food from the feast to the poor,” she said. “Soon enough they will be supping on roast swan and other delicacies, for the night at least.”

“Queen Margaery has done much to endear herself to the people, I believe,” said Oberyn. “She is more beloved perhaps than anyone.”

“She…puts on a good show,” Brienne muttered. Oberyn and Ellaria’s eyes met.

 

After the guests had eaten far past the point of satiation, the final treat was wheeled into the hall. The multi-tiered wedding pie contained live birds; Brienne loved this part. There was something so magical about seeing the birds fly free from the baked crust. When done well, it provided the perfect cap to a feast.

Joffrey did not get off to a good start. First, he made to draw his Valyrian steel sword, which was hardly an appropriate tool. Then, he wobbled on the way to the cart as if drunk. This drew Jaime’s close scrutiny. Joffrey had not indulged in much wine. True, he was only 13, but the sweet vintage in his chalice had been purposely watered down to keep him from making a fool of himself. Jaime moved closer in case he needed support.

Joffrey drew the replacement sword Tywin gave him and sliced toward the pie, missing it entirely. The crowd tittered, assuming the king was seeing double. He brought the sword over this head and sliced down again with all his strength. He clipped the edge of the pie and cut all the way through the wheeled cart. It collapsed, spilling the pie onto the ground where it broke open to a maelstrom of doves' wings. He raised the sword again – to attack what, who knew? – and those nearby could see that his nose was bleeding freely. His queen stepped back, her face twisted in terror.

The King’s Guard began to converge; none was closer than Jaime. Joffrey’s face grew paler by the moment. He swung the sword down in an arc at Jaime, but with much less force than before. Jaime blocked it with his bracer and grabbed the king’s wrist. The sword fell from his hand, and he cast his gaze around the room, seeming to recognize no one. His legs gave out and he fell into Jaime’s arms.

“Mother?” he cried as Cersei ran to cradle his limp form. Seizures started to shake his body.

“Help! Someone help! Fetch the maesters!” Margaery yelled.

 

Pycelle ordered the king to be carried to the maester’s study as quickly as possible. He tried every manner of potion ever devised for stopping bleeding, clotting blood, or even repairing cuts (though he could see no breaks in the boy’s skin). Nothing worked. Blood continued to pour from his nose and gums. His eyes became bloodshot, eventually weeping tears. His fingers and toes blackened. Finally, after entering a period of stasis that Pycelle optimistically hoped was a turning point, a horrifying torrent of bloody diarrhea rushed from his bowels, and he could carry on the fight on longer.

It had to be poison. Perhaps in a far away land, there was a disease that progressed in this manner. Here, however, to strike down a young man in the bloom of health – impossible. Pycelle recommended that all the king’s food and drink be fed to prisoners. He was astonished that none developed any symptoms. Of course, it could have been one of the earlier courses, or a different method of delivery entirely. He had a link in his chain for poisons, but he was old, and there is always more knowledge being uncovered. Once the king had been released to the Silent Sisters, he and his assistants would review every book on poisons in the royal library to find what manner of foul substance could affect a person so.

The king’s body traveled with the Silent Sisters for preparation for his funeral. They garbed him in gilded armor and placed Widows Wail in his cold grip. As a final touch, they placed the traditional painted stones over his closed eyes. They brought him into the sept and laid him out beneath the altar of the Stranger so that he may be guided into the other world.

Jaime stood an unmoving vigil at the head of altar. His placement was proper – the Lord Commander mourning his king. He could never acknowledge the boy as his son; he hadn't even truly loved him. Cersei though…she’d loved him fiercely. Loved him more than all gods and men combined. Jaime worried more on his sister’s desperate pain than that someone may desecrate the king’s body. He considered abandoning the vigil to seek his sister, but looked up to see that she had acted first.

Cersei had arrived silently and knelt praying at the altar of the Mother for uncounted minutes. They were all alone in the sept. At last, her voice broke the dense silence. “Our baby boy. Our firstborn. Who could have so much hate in them to do this?”

“We will find them out. Justice will be done for him. I vow it.”

He went to her side to provide comfort, taking her into his embrace. Cersei resisted at first when she felt his tender caresses turn passionate. His eyes shone with urgency to reaffirm their connection. Even if he did not share the depths of her pain, he had lost a son as well. She unlaced his breeches solemnly, almost a ceremonial rite. She offered herself to him on the only fitting place, the altar, watched by their son’s dead, stone eyes. He entered her, warm and alive. With each thrust, he tried to remind her: we are still here, still together. If this couldn’t break us apart, nothing can. She cried out before he spent himself within her; he could only hope it was from pleasure. She had no words for him afterward, departing as he tucked himself away and resumed his vigil.

 

Brienne waited outside Cersei’s bedchamber, fully armed and armored. On seeing Cersei, she knelt with her sword pointing down. “I will see justice done for your son, my queen. I vow it.”

“You and Jaime; you think alike but neither of you understand. As if justice would bring back my son. Would you like to comfort me as Jaime did?” There was something dark and forbidding in the queen’s expression, as if she were daring Brienne to try.

“No, Your Grace. I know that’s not my place. I would give you companionship, though, so you don’t have to face the night alone.”

Cersei squared her jaw. She would show no weakness. The rage in her expression should have frightened Brienne, but she felt too empty at the moment for fear.

“Come inside. Take off your armor. Who did you think you would be fighting tonight? You’re not very clever are you?” Cersei continued as Brienne stripped down to her tunic. “Thick. Stupid. Ugly.” Her words were having no effect. “Graceless cow.”

“Would you like me to wash your face?” Brienne asked. As she approached Cersei with the washcloth, the queen struck her in the shoulder. Brienne barely felt it. She cleaned Cersei’s face and neck, and the blows continued, building to a frenzy. It all culminated in a punch to Brienne’s jaw that she did feel, needing to shake the stars out of her eyes afterwards. Finally, the sobbing began. Cersei buried her face in Brienne’s thick neck and keened, at last giving voice to her grief. She clutched at Brienne and wept until the younger woman’s garment was soaked through at the shoulder. Brienne gathered her into her arms and carried her to bed.

“Stay,” Cersei said. “Don’t leave me alone. Please.”

“Never, sister.” Brienne replied. “I will always be here for you.”

 


	17. King's Landing X - Accusation

Grand Maester Pycelle rose in audience with the Queen Regent, the Hand of the King Tywin Lannister, and the rest of the small council. Absent only was Tyrion, the Master of Coin, still returning from the Vale and Ser Jaime, the Lord Commander, standing vigil for his slain king and nephew in the Sept of Baelor. Pycelle’s quavering, reedy voice for once commanded the attention of all present.

“I have determined the identity of the poison, my Lords. Its symptoms appear to match a rare substance from Asshai, known as The Long Farewell. This poison is absorbed through the skin, and a single drop can be lethal. Its name comes from the unfortunate fact that, depending on the victim’s constitution, death can occur within moments or take hours or even days. Therefore, our much lamented King Joffrey may have arisen on his wedding day with death already in his veins.”

“How did it enter the city? Who would dare bring it through our gates? Who used it on my son?” Cersei demanded, her voice rising in crescendo to a shout.

“This I can not determine, my queen,” Pycelle said.

“Unacceptable,” Cersei declared. “Can no one here can provide any enlightenment? Prince Oberyn, the Dornish are said to have great knowledge of poisons. Surely the Red Viper did not arrive in King’s Landing without his fangs.”

Rightly perceiving the danger behind her words, Oberyn maintained his most serious, courtly demeanor. “It is true that we can be said to appreciate the tactical use of poison under the appropriate circumstances, as an enhancement to battle for keeping one’s foes on their backs. Dishonorably poisoning someone in their home, on an occasion of great joy? No, this is not our way. The House of Martell, not to mention the entire land of Dorne, had nothing but respect for our young king. We desire stability and peace. I personally have objectives here that will be delayed by this turn of events. I would never have threatened my own vengeance, surely that you can believe.

“As for the substance, it is unknown to me. It is not a battle poison. I would call it, with no offense intended, a woman’s weapon, to be used by those who cannot fight for themselves.”

“Ser Marbrand,” Cersei turned to the Commander of the City Watch, “You must make inquiries of those who were closest to Joffrey on the day of his wedding and possibly the day before. Find out if there was anything only he touched. You may go through his rooms; talk to his servants. I will know how he encountered this poison, and who put it in his path.”

 

Brienne had never formally studied to be a knight. From the first time she mentioned wanting to serve as a page, everyone around her claimed it was impossible. She’d tried to be a noble woman, then, to prepare herself to be a the Lady of a grand house, but those lessons hadn’t taken hold. She’d finally resolved to do her best to at least live up to the knightly virtues. She knew all the practical aspects of a knight’s life, and her fighting skills were superior to all but living legends. Still, some of the rituals perplexed her. How, for example, was one man expected to maintain a vigil for an entire week, day and night?

“Let me relieve you, Ser Jaime. No harm will come to the late king.”

“That’s not how vigils work.” Bone-tired after three days, he would have gone ahead with a patronizing explanation for any other non-knight. Brienne didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his pain, however. He was Lord Commander of the King’s Guard, and the king had died on his watch, practically under his nose. Standing a week-long vigil served as a sign of his penitence as well as his faithfulness. Surely she would understand if she thought on it.

_And he calls me stubborn._ “May I stand with you then?” If they stood closely enough, he could lean on her and rest a bit.

“Of course. Until the night. Cersei will need you then.”

Brienne hadn’t seen her own bed since Joffrey died. Not that Cersei had treated her with any affection. She was distant and dismissive, at best. They ate dinner in silence, what little Cersei ate. On a good night, only half her meager meal returned untouched. Still, whenever Brienne would offer to leave her alone, the queen would grab her wrist hard enough to leave bruises.

“She is lost without someone to suffer the consequences. For her sake, I pray Ser Marbrand can find the truth.”

“How goes his investigation?”

“The usual court rumors. Some point to Tyrion; you know how loose his tongue could be. He threatened Joffrey on more than one occasion. No one has a plausible way to connect him to the poison, however. A few talk of Sansa Stark, with Margaery as the true target, but again there is no evidence, and she was far away.”

“Who do you think?”

“I…you know I’m a novice at politics. The way I see it, those with the most to gain – Tommen and Cersei – are the most devastated. Even I can’t see Stannis in it, try as I might. What enemies could a boy Joffrey’s age have?”

Jaime was too tired to laugh. If only she knew.

 

The grand ladies of Highgarden kept tight reins on their tongues. Everyone understood that Margaery was suffering the deepest kind of pain. Olenna bristled with more barbs than usual, keeping even family at a distance. Among themselves, they would only talk of foolishness until their companions were well-soused and the singers bellowing dirges at a nearly painful volume.

Margaery leaned in to whisper to Olenna, “What of Brienne of Tarth, Grandmama? She is known to many as honest and reliable. I could get her to repeat a few choice phrases in the right ear.”

“No, you couldn’t. I’m afraid you missed a trick there, girl. Quite unlike you. You had your chance to win her, but it passed you by.”

“Really? What did I do wrong?” Margaery felt a flush creep across her skin and dipped her head so no one would notice. She had thought she was playing the game perfectly.

“You believed the gossip of the court over the evidence of your own eyes. You met her dressed like a summer tart rather than a somber queen. Perhaps if you’d worn the Baratheon cloak to your wedding…but no, your father the lack-wit insisted on showing the Highgarden colors.”

Seeing that Margaery still didn’t grasp her meaning, Olenna simplified. “The poor maid loved Renly. Had you been able to pop out a few tears at the mention of his name, she would have been yours forever. As it is, we’ll have to find someone else.”

 

The seamstress appeared on Marbrand’s doorstep, though if she could tell one end of a needle from another, he’d be surprised. Roz, she called herself, and claimed that she had information she was too afraid to reveal but to the Commander’s own ear.

“I was sent to provide service to the Lord Hand. He needed …buttons sewn onto his pants, see?”

“Girl, will you please come out with it?”

“Well, he’d had a fair bit of wine and was at his ease, you understand. He started mumbling, kind of like he was talking to hisself. He said the boy was getting too headstrong and not listening to his betters. He axed me if the witch from Essos was still in the market. She was then; I know cuz lots of my…friends went to her for moon tea. She left in a right hurry after the wedding, though. ‘Good, good,’ m’lord said, then he sent me on my way. I been thinking about it all ever since. Do you see? It don’t look right.”

Ser Marbrand’s strengths lay in leadership and battle prowess. He had truly done the work of ten men in unifying and reconstituting the Gold Cloaks after the Battle of the Blackwater. However, a great leader is not necessarily a canny investigator. His questions, seeded by Roz’s prompts, encouraged tongues to wag at court. Truths bled into exaggerations, and not wanting to be left out, some imagined tales out of whole cloth.

“I heard Lord Tywin call the king a little monster,” said Lady Taena, a friend of Cersei’s. (In fact, she mis-remembered; Tyrion had said so.)

“I heard him say the younger boy may be better suited to rule,” relayed Lord Rosby, long-time friend to the Lannisters. (This was true, but out of context.)

“He said Prince Tommen would be more pliable, whatever that means,” said Lady Megga, a young cousin of Margaery. (Pure invention, and clumsily sold at that.)

The tales from Lords, Ladies, King’s Guard, gold cloaks, servants, and ‘little birds’ all slowly aligned. By the time Marbrand gained audience to speak with the Tyrells, the rumors had taken firm enough root to be called a consensus.

Margaery was the very picture of a widow in deep mourning. She needed three attempts to pull herself together enough to address the subject of the king’s sudden death. “When Lord Tywin took away Jof’s precious sword – the one he’d intended to use for the pie – he gave him another sword. The hilt looked greasy somehow. Jof seemed to have trouble holding it, and he started acting strangely right away.”

Margaery broke down again. Olenna could contain herself no longer.

“Marbrand, if no one else is going to say it, I will. Lord Tywin poisoned that poor boy sure as daylight follows darkness.”

“Did you see Lord Lannister do aught amiss?”

“My eyes are poor, you know, so I could hardly verify seeing a tiny drop of poison anywhere near the king. However, Joffrey would not be the first king Lord Lannister betrayed while serving as his Hand. King Aerys made the grave mistake of trusting his Hand, and his whole family paid the price.”

By the end of the day, the question was no longer 'who murdered the king', but 'how exactly had Tywin done it'? As if perfectly timed, Joffrey’s funeral brought the issue to a head. The city demanded a conclusion, and the competence of the guard was under question. Marbrand decided to put his faith in the process and made the arrest.

 

“Did you do it?” Jaime’s eyes were lowered. His father had always been the master strategist, the power behind the throne. Jaime felt strongly that he was innocent, but seeing Tywin at a loss was so foreign, he would have him affirm that it wasn't a machination of his own.

“No.” Tywin Lannister’s voice rang clear and unambiguous as the peal of a sept bell.

Jaime stood taller, the weight of any doubt lifted. “I knew a man such as yourself could never be guilty of kinslaying.” Regicide, yes. Kinslaying, no.

“What does your sister think?” Cersei had not been to visit in the days since his arrest.

“I am sure in her heart of hearts she know that as well. She certainly does not trust an accusation from the Tyrells. She is concerned that the rumors are getting the better of the court and hurting the family's reputation, that is all. Unfortunately, she cannot stop the trial now that a formal arrest has been made. Your judges have been decided upon.”

“And?”

“Mace Tyrell, as expected; he is powerful on the small council. Oberyn Martell, which could be lucky if he and Tyrell disagree out of spite. And Paxter Redwyne.”

“A Tyrell bannerman!”

“He was appointed master of ships by Kevan, and unfortunately, we had to go that far down the register to find someone whose last name wasn’t Lannister.”

“None of them love me. It may be the one matter Tyrell and Martell agree upon.”

“No, it is not an ideal situation. You must request trial by combat. I will be your champion. The gods _will_ judge you innocent.”

Tywin and his eldest son had faced numerous disagreements in their lives together. Many of them from this very trait, Tywin considered. Jaime is short-sighted. Impulsive. He downright refuses to take the long view even on matters of life and death.

“I will not have you fight the Mountain.” When volunteers were called to fight for the Crown, Ser Gregor was always foremost.

Jaime didn’t know whether to be insulted or oddly touched by his father’s protectiveness. “He’s big and strong. That’s all. I’m quicker of mind and body. He won’t land a blow.”

“You’d best hope he doesn’t. It wouldn’t be like fighting with that great hulking girl of yours, freak that she is. One blow from him costs an arm. Another mayhap cleaves your head in two, helm and all.”

“I’ve been to war. I know the consequences of a mistake. Do _I_ have to remind _you_ that in King’s Landing, the crowd favorite nearly always prevails? I will not fail you.” Jaime's lips lifted in a smug memory of his last duel. “I didn’t fail my great hulking girl, did I? Honor compels me to do all the more for you.”

Had Jaime not been so glib about it, he might have convinced him. Anger sparked in Tywin upon Jaime’s retort, however. “The Mountain is not the Knight of Flowers! And you toyed with the boy. One brash, cocksure step too close to Ser Gregor and you would be dead, with me soon to follow.”

“I will not-“

“Have them bring me fresh garb on the day of the trial. I would like to go out looking like a Lord.”

 

Tywin knelt at the foot of his grandson’s seat. “Your Grace,” he addressed the boy, but his words were aimed at his mother. “Though I deny the accusations against me, I cannot disprove them. As a final act of fealty, I would save the court the uncomfortable business of a trial that would only serve to bring personal enmities to the surface.” He locked eyes one by one with his judges, allowing each to consider which of their secrets he might choose to reveal. “I implore Your Grace, allow me to take the Black and continue to serve my Kingdom to the best of my abilities.”

Cersei sat up straight and gave a slight nod to Tommen signaling acceptance.

Tywin’s eyes met Olenna’s. _You took your shot and came close. But when you aim at the true power, you can’t merely wound._

 


	18. Sunspear

Cersei’s mood underwent a surprising lift once Tywin Lannister left for the Wall. Nothing could change that her firstborn was gone forever, and her heart would never again feel whole. However, other troublesome concerns vanished as Tywin’s retinue headed north. No one could ever force her to marry again. No one could convene small council meetings behind her back or gainsay her appointments. No one could gainsay her in anything, really. She was now the absolute ruler until Tommen came of age.

Tyrion returned from the Vale just in time to smirk at his father’s retreating form and shout, “Don’t worry, I’ll do my able best as head of the family.” Cersei had hoped he would bask in the glory of being the new Lord Lannister enough to relocate to Casterly Rock, but he had sent uncle Kevan in his place as castellan. Jaime failed to persuade her to re-appoint Tyrion as Hand. He was too difficult; Lord Rosby was a much more reliable echo to her opinions. Tyrion was doing competent service as Master of Coin, and funds were an area of genuine concern. With rebellions still ongoing in the Riverlands and the North, the Crown could not yet begin repaying its debtors.

One matter still weighed heavily on her mind, but a path to that solution was also becoming conceivable thanks to Tywin’s absence. The Mountain had always been a special favorite of her father’s, but he meant nothing to her. The Cleganes were no better than the Kettleblacks, really, and less loyal. The Hound had deserted, and the Mountain had disobeyed her father (surely) when he’d raped Queen Elia and murdered her children. Cersei invited Prince Oberyn to a private dinner to discuss some fine details concerning his vengeance.

 

The Queen Regent had summoned Jaime and Brienne to the throne room. The formality of the invitation concerned them. Cersei had begun to recover her spirits recently, but her head was still full of some strange ideas about Joffrey’s true killer. So far she’d yet to make either of them regret vowing to help her, but her desperation was growing.

“Brother…brothers,” Cersei said with a winning smile. They cautiously relaxed as she treated them more casually. “I have gifts for you, and a mission.”

“Let’s hear of the mission first, then the gifts can take the sting out of it,” Jaime said. Brienne hoped they weren’t going to be asked to round up old ladies for questioning. Most them were harmless wastes of time, and one of them was terrifying.

“Prince Oberyn will be returning to Dorne along with all the Dornishmen who traveled north for the wedding. They will also be escorting Gregor Clegane, who is to be tried in Sunspear for his actions on the day of Aerys’ fall. As this may be expected to be a difficult journey, I would like you to accompany Prince Oberyn to ensure that all is well.”

“Hold a moment. Gregor is a knight of the realm. His crimes were committed here. The Crown should be responsible for his trial,” Jaime said.

“Yes, that had long been Father’s position. All knew that if Gregor was ever arrested, he would demand trial by combat. Who would dare face him? Close your mouths, both of you fools. Besides, Oberyn wants to try him in Dorne, wants the Dornish people to see justice done for their Princess.” Cersei abandoned her royal demeanor entirely and approached them as intimates. “I do understand that this trial will be a farce, yes. Do you think this is a poor reward for someone who has served House Lannister loyally for years? I suppose it is, but you see, he was the key to unlocking a greater concession from the Dornish.

“Once you have delivered Ser Gregor to Sunspear, you will return to King’s Landing – with Myrcella. Oberyn has granted that she and Trystane can visit the capital for a while. He has assured me he can convince Doran to agree, but sending the two of you along seems like prudent motivation.”

A tight smile passed across Cersei’s face. She picked up a slender package wrapped in leather from the foot of the throne. “And now, the gifts. Jaime, Tommen is too young, and even grown he’ll never be able to put this to the use you can. Joffrey named it Widow’s Wail. I would be grateful if you would wield it in memory of him.”

Jaime accepted the package and drew the sword from its jeweled scabbard. He ignored the ostentatious lions and rubies set in the scabbard and pommel once the blade was in his hand. It felt alive, a true extension of his arm. He knew instantly that there was no man in the kingdoms who could defeat him with this blade in his hand.

“Thank you, Sister,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

She had already turned to bring forth a strikingly similar package for Brienne.

Brienne gingerly drew the sword from its scabbard and stared nearly hypnotized at the red and black patterns shining throughout the steel. She gave it a few test swings and could hear the difference as the Valyrian steel cut through the air.

“You can’t mean for me to have this.”

“Of course I do. Are you one of the best swords in the family or not?”

“I don’t understand.” Brienne genuinely couldn’t comprehend what was happening. With Jaime preoccupied and Cersei so distraught, she hadn’t felt much familial affection lately, then all of a sudden, a priceless sword? _Perhaps this is the only way she knows to show love, with gifts? Jaime was almost as bad, actually, though he had snuck in few kisses. Father would just have squeezed me until my ribs crackled; that always worked._

“You are,” Cersei said. “If you want to please me, you can call that sword Oathkeeper for the promise you’ve made to me. Use it to bring my daughter home safe and unharmed.”

“I will…thank you, Sister. I will.” Brienne’s voice grew stronger as her grip on Oathkeeper became more sure. It sat in her hand perfectly; she already felt like she’d trained with it for years.

Jaime and Brienne held their swords side to side. The blades were not quite twins as Oathkeeper was longer and wider, but they shared the same strength in their rippling red and black steel.

 

Jaime was looking forward to traveling with Brienne again. They could ride together, speaking or silent, enjoying the fresh air. They would eat all their meals together with few distractions, and spar in the evening. They’d share a blanket by the fire, or perhaps a little more privately.

His heart leapt unexpectedly into his throat as he came upon Brienne and Prince Oberyn deep in conversation. That the prince’s eyes were level with her bustline, Jaime didn’t suppose could be helped, but he could at least try to avert his gaze. Brienne leaned towards him, chuckling softly at some jape.

“Prince Oberyn,” Jaime said, “I wanted to personally inform you that all is in readiness for our departure tomorrow morning. The Queen Regent hopes that you and your noble friends can join her for a farewell feast this evening.”

“Of course, Lord Commander. Will you and Lady Tarth be there?”

“Indeed,” replied Jaime.

“Yes,” said Brienne.

“All the more reason,” Oberyn said. He kissed Brienne’s hand and made his exit. Jaime hoped the pulse hammering in his neck wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

He smiled and turned to Brienne. _Forget about it. Remind her to wear a dress. Don’t mention-_ “What were you talking about with Prince Eager Spear?”

Brienne smiled tolerantly back at him. “We were discussing some sites to see around Sunspear. He offered to take me to visit his favorite places in the city.”

“Haha, no. I wouldn’t recommend taking him up on that. Not unless you want to lose your innocence in a Dornish orgy. Which would be an interesting way to go about it, I suppose. You’d be awfully sore come morning, though.”

“Jaime!” He hadn’t been that vulgar with her in a while. _He’s jealous!_ She was almost sure. Of course it was silly – Prince Oberyn hadn’t suggested anything…improper. It was thrilling, though, that he cared enough to be jealous. She hoped she’d soon grow to understand the workings of his mind. At present, every time he kissed her was a fresh surprise.

 

Ser Gregor did not take his arrest well. He had to be starved in a black cell for days before the group departed for Dorne. Still, he was bound in thick iron manacles and tied to a horse before they felt safe to get underway. Though many feared him, he had few friends, so there was no one to protest as he was forcibly led from the city.

“Elia Martell. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Admit it!”

Over and over for three days, the Dornish prince’s voice drilled into their heads, impossible to ignore. Brienne grew to admire the Mountain’s dogged silence. She was almost prepared to confess herself just to make it stop.

Ser Gregor, apparently, had been biding his time. In the late watches after the third day of travel, he managed to pull his stake out of the ground. He had a chance at freedom if he ran for the foothills, but instead, he charged into Oberyn’s tent. He wrapped his chains around Oberyn’s throat, and did his level best to decapitate him. Oberyn managed to get ahold of the spear he kept nearby his bedroll. He punctured Gregor’s side, not deeply but painfully enough to buy himself time. Men dragged the two combatants apart, Oberyn massaging his neck and Gregor looking askance at the wound in his flank.

Gregor’s wound began to fester, much in the style of other injuries Oberyn was known to have inflicted. Gregor was soon a husk of his former self. He begged for a quick end at first, then for mercy, then he could do no more than scream. Even after Gregor confessed in front of dozens of men, Oberyn refused to end it. Every day Gregor’s torment grew worse, and Prince Oberyn’s taunts seemed crueler.

“How can a man be so charming one moment and a monster the next?” she asked Jaime privately.

“What’d I do this time? Surely making my squire tend to your horse doesn’t make me a monster.” She should have had a squire of her own; Jaime chided himself for not thinking of it. If only she’d learn to demand what she needed.

“Not you,” _you self-centered peacock,_ “Prince Oberyn. Gregor’s helpless – all but dead – and he still won’t let up. I’ve half a mind to stick a dagger in Gregor’s eye just to have done with it.”

“Don’t judge him too harshly,” Jaime said, surprising her. “He’s had his cries for vengeance ignored year after year while watching the man who destroyed his family advance in stature. He’s heard of him leading armies, and committing further atrocities, all while his commanders turn a blind eye. Politics have kept the prince in a bind, unable to take matters into his own hands. Do you imagine if anyone did to Cersei or you, what the Mountain did to Elia that I would be any less rabid by now? Would you?”

“I don’t know…” Brienne trailed off. She hadn't missed the significant shift in Jaime's thinking.

“Let’s pray we never do.”

 

Gregor died as the group reached the ruins of Summerhall. He hadn’t been able to consume food or water for three days, so his torment was unremitting in the end. There was neither trees nor cloud cover to block the sun’s constant assault. Feeling no need to prolong the journey after that point, Oberyn cut off the Mountain’s head. His lips drew back in disgust as the blood from Gregor’s neck oozeed out in a clotted purple-black sludge. They had no tar, so he merely placed the head in a sack and didn’t concern himself with the rot. The rest of Gregor’s body was left by the side of the road for whatever scavengers passed by.

The bulk of the men continued down the Boneway by land, but Oberyn and his close friends, including his escorts from King’s Landing, followed the river south to travel more swiftly by ship. Though everyone’s spirits were lifted (due to the lack of constant, agonized screaming), Brienne found Oberyn’s jests too macabre for her tastes. She had a cabin to herself on the ship and spent much of her time there, sometimes wishing that she wasn’t alone.

Sunspear came into view as they rounded the Stepstones. Oberyn pointed out its most visible features: the tall, thin Spear Tower and the gleaming golden dome of the Tower of the Sun.

“You can also see the Landship in the distance,” he said. “It is an eyesore, yes, but it is the oldest keep of House Martell and we are a sentimental lot.”

Which was the truer side of the man, Brienne wondered, the charming wit or the ruthless viper? Didn’t one of his faces have to be false?

 

The head of House Martell, Prince Doran, welcomed his brother and the guests from King’s Landing in his library on the ground floor of the Tower of the Sun. If Jaime at first suspected a minor insult in not being received in the throne room, his mind was soon set at ease. Though Doran tried valiantly to disguise it, Jaime noticed that the Prince rose with pain and was unable to walk from his seat. His gout had become incapacitating. Climbing the numerous stairs to the highest floor in the tower would be torture for him, plainly.

Oberyn revealed the Mountain’s head with some fanfare and related how he had wrung a confession from him before his end. Doran sent the head away to be cleaned for display, his distaste evident. He relayed further news from the capital, including that Tywin Lannister was now traveling to the Wall. Jaime gave the Martells credit for not seeming to relish the downfall of a rival Lord. Finally, the brother’s conversation came around to Myrcella and Trystane visiting King’s Landing. Oberyn managed to imply without outright saying that the trip was a necessary consequence of their justice.

“There is a slight complication,” Doran said. “Nothing serious, but you will need to remain our guests for a week or so. You see, Princess Myrcella has recently come down with redspots. As you know, this is nigh harmless to children but can be fatal to adults. It’s best for everyone if she recovers before she and Trystane depart.”

“I would still visit with her, if I have your leave. Have no fear, I had the illness as a child,” Jaime replied. “You can only get it the once.” He looked questioningly towards Brienne.

She shook her head. Tarth’s separation from the mainland kept most diseases away. Those who remained on the island all their lives tended to be healthy. The downside was that those who left had little resistance to afflictions that troubled the mainlanders. She had remained almost constantly ill with minor complaints for months after joining Renly, until her constitution finally strengthened.

Doran had Jaime escorted to Myrcella’s sickroom. The girl lay abed, wrapped tightly to ward off the chill. Her face was covered with a salve to keep the itching at bay, but underneath Jaime could see the tell-tale red spots. She dozed peacefully, seeming to be untroubled by her illness.

Jaime returned to the library. He gave Prince Doran a pained smile, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“That is not Myrcella,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who haven’t read the books (& don’t mind **spoilers** ), here’s what’s happening behind the scenes in Dorne – it’s even more needlessly convoluted than it was on the show. Doran’s daughter, Arianne, was secretly (even to her) betrothed to Viserys, who is now dead. Hearing about that, Doran sent his son Quentyn to court Daenerys, but he dies in the attempt. Also Doran and Oberyn know full well that Tywin Lannister was behind the deaths of Elia and her children and have an elaborate revenge scheme in mind. Him being dead/at the Wall will certainly complicate that. Man, the Dornish can’t catch a break.


	19. The Greenblood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update in favor of J/B week (because everything else I'm writing isn't J/B, I worked doubly on this instead. Happy J/B week!)

The girl in Myrcella’s sickroom was Rosamund Lannister, of the Lannisport Lannisters. They were a minor branch of the family, but Jaime had to admit she had Myrcella’s general appearance. Still, he’d known at a glance that she wasn’t his…Cersei’s daughter.

As in his younger years, Jaime’s hand itched to draw his sword and threaten swift retribution. He called to mind the wise counsel of Ser Arthur Dayne, the truest knight he’d ever known, ‘Naked steel cuts reason even before it cuts flesh.’ He forced himself to show patient deliberation.

“Have you nothing to say? That is not Princess Myrcella.”

Prince Doran’s face blanched, his handsome olive skin turning a more sickly yellow-green. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly. Jaime could see the doubt in his eyes. Doubt and fear. He had been unable to navigate the stairs to check for himself but would not call attention to his weakness.

“I am the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard. Yes, I am confident of my ability to identify the royal family on sight.”

Doran turned to Jaime’s opposite number, a formidable older man, much scarred by battle. His long axe appeared sharp and well-used. “Areo, bring Princess Myrcella’s protector, Ser Arys before us.”

That was right and proper. Jaime was glad he’d exercised restraint. Ser Arys had been a loyal member of the King’s Guard for more than ten years. Cersei had personally chosen him to travel with Myrcella and keep her safe. He would have died before allowing any harm to come to his charge.

Areo returned leading a short man in full armor with his visor closed. He was wearing the white cloak, but even Doran’s man seemed uncertain, his long axe limbered in his hand.

Jaime didn’t wait for an invitation before lifting the man’s visor and staring into his eyes. “Another impostor. Who is this man?”

Oberyn spoke up, “That is Rolder, a house guard. A special friend of Princess Arianne, is it not so?”

The merciless expressions of everyone else in the room broke Rolder’s resolve immediately. “She only said the little Princess should see the kingdom. It’s not right, keeping her cooped up in this old castle. She’d never even seen the desert, which is a lot like living in the north and never seeing snow. She said they’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“I suppose if you hire guards that stupid, they can’t remember to ask for pay. Well done,” said Jaime.

“How long has my daughter been away?” asked Doran. The white-knuckled grip he had on his chair belied the calm expression on his face.

“She left this morning, Sire. She said her and some friends would meet up with Arys and Myrcella at the old ruins to the west and then ride for the Greenblood river. I figured they’d probably feast with the Rhoynar for the evening and head back in the morning.”

“If you’re able to ride a horse as fast as the wind, we can catch them,” said Oberyn. “Dornish sand steeds are the finest in the world. Able to run two days and two nights without rest, and supremely beautiful besides. Arianne and her friends will merely have ordinary horses since Myrcella is but a child and unable to control such a beast.”

On a list of people Jaime wanted to depend on at the moment, Oberyn ranked somewhere between Littlefinger and Aerys II Targaryen. Still…still…if Myrcella was taken into the depths of the Greenblood, with its warren of ever changing twisty passages, he may never see her again. Mayhap no one would.

“Very well. Let us waste no more time. Prepare the sand steeds,” Jaime said. Only then did he think to raise an eyebrow at Brienne. He sure hoped she could ride as well as she could sail.

 

They made excellent time galloping down the sea road away from Sunspear. Oberyn suggested they head south, straight toward the river’s mouth. That would lead them through a greater stretch of desert, but it was a more direct route. Their mounts were made to run in the sand, after all.

Jaime soon began to suspect Oberyn had some degree of prideful motives for leading them into the wastes. It was his first time riding in desert conditions and it wasn’t easy. The sand stung his eyes and got into his mouth, nose, and ears. He turned to complain to Brienne about it and saw she had wrapped a silky veil (a suspiciously new and Dornish looking silky veil) around her head, leaving only her stunning eyes exposed. Gods, if she’d been born a desert nomad, she’d have had her pick of husbands. The heat was filling his head with bizarre imaginings. He prayed the sun would go down soon, and that something else would as well. It was becoming quite difficult to ride.

Oberyn called a halt at a section of scrub brush outside the basin of the river. The Greenblood was at its deepest point here where it met the Summer Sea. It still appeared sluggish and shallow to the non-Dornish, more of a swamp than a proper river. Oberyn pointed to a raft moored to the shore. Its captain seemed to be keeping a steady watch toward a western patch of the desert.

“Looks as if he’s still waiting for someone, yes?”

Brienne asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping her bounds, “Tell me, why do you think your niece would steal away with Princess Myrcella?” She’d been trying to grasp Dornish politics. As she understood it, Arianne was Doran’s heir, followed by his son Quentyn, and only then Myrcella’s fiancée, Trystane. Myrcella should be no threat to her position.

Oberyn’s lips narrowed, “I only have a speculation, a dark and dangerous one. You see, in Dorne, the female is held equal to the male.” He gave Brienne a roguish smile. Jaime drank deeply from his water flask, then wet his brow, all the while trying to keep the knocking in of Oberyn’s overly white teeth firmly limited to his fantasies.

“Inheritance of titles is based on who is the elder. When my older brother passes away, Arianne his firstborn, will be his heir, not her younger brothers. This is fair and well. However, there is an interesting conundrum, for thanks to King Daeron II, Dornish law applies to all matters in Dorne.”

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut trying to figure it out. She was almost there.

“When King Joffrey died, Myrcella was in Dorne,” Oberyn prompted.

_Myrcella is older than Tommen_. Her eyes flew open. “No!”

“Yes, this is my suspicion. I believe Arianne means to crown Myrcella.”

Jaime’s water flask tumbled from his nerveless fingers. “That would mean war.”

“Arianne is not a subtle thinker like her father. She believes Dorne should be its own kingdom again. She would not attack the Crownlands, no, merely withdraw to our cities. Stop paying tribute and wait for your forces to come to us. The sun will kill more of you than our spears; that is always the way. We know you have rebellion still from the north, the Ironborn, the other Baratheon, and rumors of Targaryens in the east. Maybe you would not come for years. All the while, we call ourselves kings and queens and enjoy the freedom. That is as far ahead as she thinks.

“Unfortunately, all of us here know that the most certain casualty of that line of reason is Myrcella herself. No invasion is necessary if the pretender queen dies. So, let us defang this viper before it strikes, yes?”

 

A sand cloud in the distance heralded the arrival of a team of riders from the desert wastes. Oberyn, Jaime, and Brienne remounted their sand steeds and prepared their weapons. As the riders neared, Oberyn’s sharp eyes counted seven, four men and three women. They approached the raft directly, without bothering to scan for any observers.

The Dornish Princess was the most obvious of the new arrivals. Though lacking in height, her regal bearing and fine silks distinguished her from the others. She boarded the boat to speak with the captain. Another woman followed her closely. Princess Myrcella remained on her horse, though she was barely distinguishable under her close silk wrappings.

The remainder of the group were men, all armed and armored. The two Jaime didn’t recognize were in leather. One was swarthy and well-seated on his horse, clearly the best rider. The other appeared less comfortable even though his mount was of higher quality. Ser Arys positioned his horse close to Myrcella’s, so perhaps he was still performing his duty. The final member of the party was a knight known as the Darkstar, Ser Gerold Dayne. Jaime had been knighted by his cousin, Ser Arthur Dayne, but this Dayne did not seem to be infused with his family's noble spirit. Jaime noticed with a mix of relief and satisfaction that he was not equipped with Dawn, the ancestral greatsword of House Dayne, last wielded by Ser Arthur, the Sword of the Morning.

“Let me go forth first,” Oberyn said, “Perhaps a parlay can convince them to put down their arms and give up this folly.” Jaime and Brienne nodded their agreement.

“Friends. My niece,” Oberyn said as he rode out to them. “What a fine day for a ride. We thought so as well. But it is time to return to the castle. We will escort you.” Jaime and Brienne advanced to flank him.

“Ser Jaime!” yelled Myrcella, in startled recognition. She made to spur her horse to him.

“Stay back, Your Grace,” said Ser Arys.

”Arys? You’ve turned traitor?” Jaime asked, barely believing it. He had been sure Arys would be true to his oath and give his life to protect the royal blood. Instead he was wrapped up in a scheme that was sure to spill it.

“No, Ser Jaime, it’s that sister of yours who usurps the throne. Myrcella is our rightful ruler, not her younger brother.”

“Have you gone mad? This is her life you’re playing with!”

“Friends, let us keep civil tongues,” Oberyn cajoled. “Tell me, Ser Arys, what promises has my sweet niece made to you in this matter?” He shrewdly evaluated the knight. “Has she perhaps offered herself to you? Suggested that Myrcella’s Queen’s Guard would be free to marry?” Ser Arys flushed violently and was no longer able to meet his Lord Commander’s eye.

“My niece and I share similar views on chastity,” Oberyn said softly for the benefit of this companions.

“This is over,” Oberyn commanded Arianne’s followers. “Throw down your weapons, and we will return to Sunspear as friends. No one will know of this treason. Resist and every one of you will pay the traitor’s price.”

Darkstar said something to his companions too softly to travel to Oberyn's ears.

“We've come too far to go back now, and my people have suffered too much. I am as the Mother Rhoyne made me. We of the Greenblood do not lightly bear the yoke for those from afar,” said the swarthy rider. He seated his spear and spurred his steed straight at Oberyn.

Seeing that the time for diplomacy had passed, Jaime galloped toward Ser Arys while Brienne rode to intercept the other leather armored horseman who was threatening to reach Oberyn’s flank. Oberyn managed to dodge the first spear charge from his opponent. He reeled his mount around and slid his spear into the rear haunch of the man’s horse as they passed by again. The horse stumbled, then fell, but the man was nimble enough to avoid being crushed underneath.

As Jaime was struggling with Arys, he saw Darkstar drawing back his steel. The lesser Dayne did not charge to reinforce his fellow rebel, however. For all the world, it appeared he was turning his sword on Myrcella. Too late to parry the swing, Jaime could only interpose his body between Darkstar's sword and Myrcella.

The blow struck Jaime with full force on the side of his face. He fell from his horse as the blade bit deeply into his flesh. The last sound Jaime heard as he hit the sandy shore was Myrcella calling “Father!”

 


	20. The Watergardens

The Watergardens of Dorne are renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms for their temperate climate and relaxing atmosphere. Located near a beach of the Summer Sea, the palace serves as a retreat for the Martell family and their invited guests. Pink marble statues and intricate ornamentation accent the numerous fountains and pools, all shaded by sweet-smelling citrus trees. The Watergardens were designed by Maron Martell to please his new bride, the first Daenerys Targaryen, so that she could feel more at home in the kingdom of Dorne.

Brienne experienced none of the site’s pleasures, however. The five grueling days she spent there after Jaime fell during the battle of the Greenblood were among the most stressful of her life.

**Day One**

His wild, bloodshot eye rotated in its socket and latched onto hers. Brienne hoped for a moment that Jaime was finally approaching real consciousness, but only a stream of babble poured from this mouth. Leave it to Jaime to talk, even now. The sword wound was not festering, the maester had said. Beneath the bandages, the injury wept red or clear discharge, not the yellow or green they were taught to fear. Still, Jaime had not said a sensible word since he’d called her name.

She drew closer anyway to hold his hand. He wasn’t feverish. Brienne tried to soothe herself with this fact, but it was difficult when his recovery was so uncertain. The skin to skin contact seemed to give him some peace. She was preparing to drag a chair closer to his bedside when he began speaking again, in real words this time.

“We tracked the Smiling Knight,” he said. His eye didn’t refocus on Brienne as she now hovered over him, but continued staring off at something only he could see.

“We knew he was mad…we thought he’d grown incautious. We followed his horse’s scat right up to their hideout. Of course, it was an ambush. I was in the back. A squire…I was only a squire then. So much death on both sides. Found myself crossing swords with the Smiling Knight. Any other squire would have died. Anyone…I’m not boasting! He was as infamous as the Mountain. I held him off though, until Ser Arthur could drive him away. All the other knights died; just Ser Arthur and me left. The perfect knight. I loved him…he was the father I never had.”

 

**Day Two**

If anything, Jaime’s eye looked worse today, and that was the good eye, the one not underneath the bandages. If he came back to his right mind and found himself blind, Brienne didn’t know what he would do. Knights had fallen onto their swords over less. Oberyn was visiting as the maester changed the dressing. The Prince tutted over the wound, his eyes narrowing.

“This is poison, not infection,” Oberyn said. “A slow type though, meant to cause suffering, not death. Perhaps there is a way to neutralize it.”

“I suppose discovering that would be easier if the Darkstar still lived,” Brienne said, subdued. “Then you could…inquire…what he used.”

“Perhaps, but we Dornish understand passion. I had no idea your affections for Ser Jaime ran so deep…but seeing that man’s head fly though the air made it quite clear.” He squeezed Brienne’s shoulder and added, “Too bad. Ellaria and I like blondes.”

As tired as she was, Brienne appreciated Oberyn’s absolution and his attempt at cheer, so she joked back. “Jaime’s a blonde too. Once he recovers, who knows what could happen?”

“An excellent way to think about it, Lady Tarth,” Oberyn said smiling.

 

“Were you there?” Jaime asked. Brienne hurried back to her place at his bedside, but as usual, his gaze was focused somewhere in the middle distance.

“No, you’re too young. I can’t remember who else was there when he knighted me. I only had eyes for him. The truest and best of us. I tried to be him. I said the vows and meant every one. I believed it all, down to the bottom of my heart. I was never truly innocent…like her, though. Maybe that’s why the image in the mirror started to change. I used to dream I saw Ser Arthur there. Now…on bad days…I see the Smiling Knight. I hope she always stays pure. It hurts when it starts to rot…to tarnish. It hurts…”

His eye began searching the room almost desperately, unable to maintain focus. Brienne ordered the servants to bring him milk of the poppy even though she knew it would not help the pain from his memories. At least he would sleep and have relief from his waking dreams.

 

**Day Three**

The maester removed Jaime’s bandages in favor of a poultice said to be effective against the most common poisons. What was underneath the bandages wasn’t as bad as Brienne had feared. The eye was intact and he could do without a bit of his ear. However, as Oberyn had predicted, the wound had failed to close and was threatening to spread further. While the poultice didn’t provide any immediate relief, it did seem to halt the poison’s advance. As evening approached, the wound was neither better nor worse, which Brienne was willing to count as a victory.

Jaime hadn’t sounded any more coherent during the day, but he was allowing Brienne to feed him some broth. Suddenly, he grabbed her arm.

“Do you know, they tried to tell me that Ned Stark killed Arthur Dayne? Ned Stark, who was not fit to buckle his armor. Hated Stark ever since. I confronted him right there in the streets. When Stark was trying to tell Robert – trying to get my sister killed. I caused him to break his leg, and I wasn’t sorry. He was Robert’s closest friend. Robert was a monster to Cersei. He beat her, I knew, even though she tried to hide it. She knew I’d want to kill him. Should have. Why not? Already the Kingslayer until the day I die. What’s another?

“Ned though, he didn’t deserve to die. Not named a traitor. He was telling the truth. It’s the truth, Brienne, do you know that? About the children?”

Brienne’s heart jumped at hearing him recognize her. She said 'yes', but he was already wandering again.

“Brienne would forgive me that, I think. She understands that love can take a lot of forms. Men and men after a battle. Women and women in a brothel. Brother and sister in a home where there’s nothing else but cold, hard gold.

“Do you know what she wouldn’t forgive? This is funny. The one who didn’t even die. Ha! Oh, she doesn’t mind killing so long as it’s for the right causes. War, vengeance, justice. But I pushed a child off a tower because he saw me plowing my sister. He could have had us both sent to the headsman, but in her eyes that would have been fair. Bran Stark; didn’t hurt that he was a Stark, I won’t lie. She’s too pure; I could only get stains on her, don’t you see?”

 

**Day Four**

That morning, the maester brought a fresh poultice as well as a draught for Jaime to drink. This concoction was meant to counteract the specific poison Prince Oberyn concluded was likely to be affecting Jaime’s wound. Brienne could only hope that Oberyn’s descriptions of his time studying at the Citadel were not empty bragging.

There did seem to be some progress by the evening. Jaime’s eyes were moving in concert and seemed to be following people as they entered and exited his room. As the night drew on, a slight chill crept into the chamber. Servants brought in a brazier for the patient's comfort. Brienne smiled; this far south, they couldn’t tolerate any cold at all. Jaime observed the lit coals with interest.

“Do you remember the Blackwater? The wildfire setting the entire bay afire?”

“Yes, of course,” Brienne responded. She doubted he’d really been talking to her, but the hope kept her going.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Dragons love their fire. Tyrion used but one of Aerys’ caches. He had them everywhere: the sept of Baelor, the slums of Fleabottom, even the Red Keep itself. When my father brought his army to the gates, do you know what I did?”

Brienne shook her head. Jaime didn’t continue, though. He seemed to be waiting for a real answer. “No, you’ve never said.”

“I told Aerys to surrender peaceably. I could have protected him, gotten him somewhere safe before Robert and his army arrived from the Trident. But no, Pycelle had to be there, dripping honeyed lies into his ear. ‘You can trust the Lannisters, they are ever loyal friends of the crown.’ So Aerys opened the gates, and my father sacked the city.

“Again, I went to Aerys and begged him to surrender. He told me to bring him my father’s head. Then, he turned to his pyromancer, ‘Burn them all,’ he said. He meant to burn thousands, tens of thousands of people alive. So first I-“

Jaime was starting to choke on his words, but Brienne had seen this part in the flames. “You slew the pyromancer who served as the King's Hand.”

Jaime's lips twisted into a grimace. “Yes, I killed him first so he couldn't carry out the order. Then, as the king turned to flee, I stabbed him in the back. I even slit his throat to make sure the deed was done. Stark found me not long after, covered in the king’s blood, white cloak stained crimson. The honorable Ned Stark certainly didn’t care to hear my side of things. He decided he knew the whole story the moment he set eyes on me. I think he was hoping I’d try to stay on the throne. But no, I have no desire for it. Sometimes I wonder why Cersei does.”

Jaime closed his eyes. Brienne thought he might sleep, but tears started to leak out, then he sobbed. “Do you think she loves the throne more than me? I think so, sometimes. She loves that cold, hard, uncomfortable throne more than anything. She doesn’t love me, and _she_ can’t love me. She can’t! She doesn’t know me. I do dream of running away with her. We’d leave it all behind and travel far from here. Marry. Have children, if she wanted. But she’d flee from me if she knew half of what I told you. And she wouldn't go. She has duties.”

 

**Day Five**

Jaime awoke to see concerned blue eyes hovering over him. He’d been dreaming about the fight at the Greenblood, except everything was frozen as he jumped in front of Darkstar in full knowledge there was no time to parry his blow.

“Did you just wake me with a kiss, Wench?” he asked. Wasn’t there a story like that, but with the roles reversed? Typical misfit Brienne. Gods, it was good to see her.

“No,” she backed away flushing. ( _It was really her, for a certainty_ ). “You were breathing funny. I wasn’t sure if you were having trouble or waking up.”

“I’m fine.” He tried to pull himself more upright, but quickly stopped when that set off explosions in his head. “Well, perhaps it’s for the maester to say how I am. Tell me what happened in the battle, though. Did everyone survive?”

“You feared we’d lose? There were only six of them; four that could fight – they are all dead. Your…Myrcella is unharmed as is the lady’s maid. Princess Arianna is also well.” That had been a closer case. Brienne had, quite unchivalrously, considered giving the Dornish princess a wound to match Jaime’s. She’d mastered her temper and contented herself with roughly restraining the princess over the backside of a horse for the return journey.

“Who killed Ser Arys?” Jaime asked. Ser Arys had been King’s Guard, chosen by Barristan Selmy himself; his final moments would need to be noted in the White Book.

“I killed all of them,” she muttered. “I saw you go down in a shower of blood. I thought you were dead. I rode down the one Oberyn unhorsed. Then I cut open the other one in leather. Oathkeeper cut off Ser Arys’ hand, sword and all, then I stabbed him through the throat. Darkstar nearly got away, but Oberyn speared his horse out from under him, and I finished him off.”

“Well, hells, next time Oberyn and I will stay at the tavern. You can do all the work.”

“If it keeps you from scaring me like that again, I accept,” she said with a deep shuddering breath.

“Politically, are matters settled?” Jaime asked.

“Yes. Princess Arianne and her bastard cousins have been arrested; they seem to have been the masterminds. They’re being held in the Spear Tower. The maid was married off to some old Lord far away. None of the dead men were from powerful enough families to demand justice from Prince Doran. Oberyn spoke for me as well; he testified as to how their deaths were necessary to prevent worse conflict.”

“Good enough of him. I still don’t want you following him around the city, though.” He smiled and tried to sit up again, but that led to a wave of dizziness and nausea, not to mention pain.

“There is one problem no one has addressed. Myrcella called you ‘Father’ in front of Oberyn. He and I are both pretending we didn’t hear it. But in case there was any doubt in his mind…”

“Myrcella was always too clever for her own good. Is her engagement still intact?”

“Yes, as far as I know. She and Trystane will leave with us when we depart. You’ll need a little more time to recover.”

“Tell me of the damage. What’s happened to my face?”

“You lost a bit of your cheek which will leave a handsome scar, and some of an ear, but it’s not like you listened anyway.” An uncontrollable laugh tore from Brienne’s lips, and she looked abashed. “I’m sorry; I’m just so relieved. You had us very worried. The injuries themselves weren’t so serious, but there was poison on the Darkstar’s blade. You spent four days raving and delirious while their maester tried every antidote he knew. You had a lot of poison to get out of your system. Prince Oberyn himself helped concoct the potion that finally worked.”

“Did I say anything interesting while I was under?” He’d bet anything (and would have won) that she hadn’t stirred from his sickroom the entire time.

“You did.” Brienne swallowed. “You told me everything. Aerys, Stark, Bran, Cersei , Ser Arthur.”

“Every…?” one look into Brienne’s eyes showed that she had learned some eye-opening truths. There was pain there, and pity, and gods-bless-her, pigheaded stubbornness. “And?”

“I’m still here.”

 


	21. King's Landing XI - Homecoming

Prince Oberyn commandeered the most lavish ship in the Dornish fleet for their return to King’s Landing. Certainly the prince has a flair for the dramatic. The level of ornate embellishment worked into the ship’s design struck Brienne as silly and impractical. Even the sails featured cloth of gold woven into the sun of his House’s sigil. The cabins were the most elaborate that Brienne had ever seen. She could almost pretend to be in the room of an expensive roadside inn.

Oberyn and Ellaria were returning to King’s Landing for him to resume his seat on the small council. Cersei would be displeased with that. She had surely thought he was departing forever when he lead Ser Gregor away in chains. Perhaps that would have been true had Myrcella not inadvertently verified the most scandalous rumors about her family. Now, he obviously intended to inspect matters with heightened scrutiny.

Brienne and Jaime were to share a cabin for the entire long journey up the coast. Brienne had mentioned, trying not to sound ungrateful, that unmarried women usually received separate accommodations. ‘Ah, but Ser Jaime still gets dizzy spells, does he not? I thought you would want to take care of him,’ Oberyn had said. He was right, but Brienne could have done without the knowing smirk. That he pointed out he and Ellaria – an unmarried woman – would also be sharing a room, dotted the i on his assumptions.

The worst part being, Jaime truly did need tending. For the first several days, he slept most of the time, only to awaken when his nightmares grew too intense. Then, even when he could keep a regular schedule, his sea legs never developed and he became queasy at the slightest change in the ship’s motion. Only in the last days of the journey was he well enough to notice the oddness of their arrangement.

“You’ve been with me every night, haven’t you?” he asked.

Brienne could have pointed out that she had no choice, or said that without her, he would have been slumped on the floor in a puddle of his own sick. There was something achingly hopeful in his expression, though. He usually hid any vulnerability under a thick layer of jests and obnoxious behavior. Letting her glimpse behind his façade was almost as touching as all the secrets he’d shared with her.

“I told you, I’m here for you. For whatever you need. Any-anything.” Gods, that was embarrassing to say out loud. It was true though, so they may as well have it in the open. At this point, there was no part of herself she was willfully holding back. His happiness was more important to her than her already tattered reputation.

“I see.” Every drop of blood in Jaime’s body wanted to rush to his loins, but he gradually got himself under control. How did she always manage to make him take the high road? She’s talking of his needs? Even after all she’d learned lately, she would lie down in the muck for his needs? Gods. He would show her that he'd become a better man than the one history would remember. No harm would come to her or her honor while he drew breath.

Jaime gazed into her eyes, and Brienne had enough time to wonder what it would feel like. Losing her maidenhead on this strangely decadent ship, moving with the pitch and roll of the waves while taking a lover. From what she’d heard out of Ellaria, it wasn’t…bad.

“I think I…could use a good meal,” he said. “I finally feel settled enough to hold it down.”

As she helped him to his feet, Brienne felt quite unsettled herself. Had she been too subtle, or did he not want her as a man wants a woman? Perhaps they were too close to King’s Landing and Cersei.

The final three nights on the ship passed; they would be remembered as pure, unremitting torture. Brienne couldn’t help but give in to her insecurities, comparing herself to Cersei, the woman – the real woman – he loved. Meanwhile, Jaime had to try every night to maintain a posture where the weakness of his flesh wasn’t uncomfortably obvious.

 

Cersei waited at the docks as the ship arrived, the majority of the King’s Guard surrounding her in a tight semi-circle. King’s Landing had enough to eat, barely, but only Queen Margaery acted comfortable traveling outside the Red Keep without heavy guard. Cersei could see the canny maneuvering inherent in her little excursions. If Margaery had a kingdom to run and a war to win, she’d see how few shopkeepers she had time to visit. Still, the young queen was making bold moves, and Cersei didn’t like to feel outplayed.

The imperious mien she’d donned for her trip to the docks melted as soon as Myrcella and Jaime disembarked. Cersei embraced her daughter, running her fingers through her golden curls, then her brother. Her eyes reflected the pain she felt at seeing his injuries, but she kept her peace for the time. They were home; that was all that truly mattered. She grew more troubled as Oberyn and Ellaria came ashore, followed by Trystane. Her well-practiced courtesies made her words of welcome perfectly charming. However, she could not keep from scowling when Myrcella and Trystane immediately reconnected once they were released by their respective family members.

Brienne lead the rest of Oberyn’s noble guests off the ship and along the path to the Red Keep. She carried Ser Arys’ arms and armor from the docks to the White Tower. While he was sure to be written up as a traitor, he had been a member of the Brotherhood and deserved to have his possessions treated with respect. With no other pressing matters at hand, she decided to spend some time at the sept. Perhaps the Maiden would grant her the particular type of strength she needed if she was going to stay in the city much longer.

 

Brienne hadn’t seen Tyrion yet and wondered why. One would think he’d want to welcome his niece home, to say nothing of herself and Jaime. She understood part of the reason when she found him in the library. He scratched away at a parchment, clearly having had more to drink than usual by this time of day. Brienne didn’t think he was paying her any heed, so his question came as a surprise.

“If you were courting a young lady, what would you do to win her over?”

Brienne’s mind locked for several moments, having no idea how to start picking apart that query. Finally, she rephrased, “Do you mean, what would I like a suitor to do for me?” knowing that probably wasn’t right. Clever Tyrion, trying to let her know that chasing after their brother was hopeless. Or was he saying that no man could ever want her? She gritted her teeth so her bottom lip wouldn’t tremble.

Tyrion squinted at her. Something was off. She looked normal, for her – dressed in a man’s pants and jerkin with no jewelry, unadorned by cosmetics – ah, but she was struggling not to show emotion.

“Has something happened?” he asked. Brienne had a tendency to push down her pain and pretend she didn’t feel it until it could no longer be contained. Tyrion had been on the receiving end of an eruption once and didn’t plan on reliving that anytime soon. Best to lance the boil early.

“No. Nothing Happened,” she over-enunciated. “I don’t want to court women,” she added miserably.

_This is about Jaime. Did he really manage not to fuck her the entire time they were in Dorne? No wonder she’s offended._ Tyrion had almost told Cersei she needed to get better informants if she thought that trip was a good idea. As fun as the taunt would have been though, he didn’t want to interfere with the first remotely healthy romantic relationship of Jaime’s life.

“I’m not saying you should court women. That was about my problems; we can get back to them.” He approached her with open arms “Oh come here. What did that idiot do?”

“Don’t call our brother an idiot,” she sniffed, cheering already in Tyrion’s warm embrace.

“That’s what families are for. We’re the only ones who get to call one another idiots. So?”

“He was injured protecting Myrcella. While he recovered, we had some very intense conversations. I felt we grew a lot closer. So I offered…I think I was pretty clear…that if he needed anything from me…you’d understand right?”

_Idiot. Idiots, plural._ “Did you grab him by the cock? Tell him exactly what you wanted to do with him? More to the point, tell him it was something _you_ wanted? Because if you didn’t, he thinks he’s being noble. Denying his selfish desires to preserve your innocence.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” She looked like a house had fallen on her.

“Oh yes. And just think of how many opportunities you missed to say that.” He patted her one last time and resumed his seat. “Can we talk about my problems now?”

“Sure,” she said, still a little dazed, “You want me to see a woman?”

“No, not really. I just want my wife back.” He sighed and rubbed his head; he was starting to sober up. “Sansa’s aunt is dead, under highly suspicious circumstances, I might add, and she’s still in the Vale with Littlefinger. I’m trying to write her a letter, but I can’t seem to find the right words. I want to sound more like you: considerate, kind, patient.”

“Isn’t it obvious you don’t want to emulate me in matters of romance? Besides, Tyrion, you are those things. You’ve always been kind to me.”

“Being unkind to you is like kicking a puppy. No one with half a soul could stand it.”

“Lots of people with half-souls, then,” she muttered.

“I know! And that scheming cunt Littlefinger is one of them! But if I write ‘get away from that gaping asshole and return to me immediately,’ then I sound like the bad guy. Do you see why I need your help?”

“That’s if he even lets her see the letter,” Brienne mused, causing Tyrion’s eyeballs to nearly pop out of his head.

“Why would you say that?!” _Of course the maester would take all the correspondence to…oh, it was hopeless._

“Because, Tyrion, I don’t think words can solve your problems this time. Lord Baelish can disregard letters and even fail to receive orders from the crown. What he can’t ignore is Sansa’s husband at his gates with a host of men to make sure you’re not lost to misadventure. He could possibly still kill you all, but I don’t think he’s brave enough. That would be too much blood to explain to the crown.”

“Hmm,” Tyrion considered. She could be right. He’d been focused too keenly on winning over Sansa’s heart and not enough on demonstrating his might. “Not too shabby. For a virgin. Who failed to seduce a sick, weak man. In Dorne.”

“Well…at least I’m not…married to a virgin. For months!” she retorted, at last getting into the Lannister spirit.

 

One of Cersei’s maids was waiting for Brienne as she returned to her room. The girl breathed a sigh of relief at finally locating the recipient of her message.

“Milady, you are to dress for battle and report to the throne room immediately. The queen is waiting for you.” Technically, ‘the queen’ was Margaery, but Cersei’s maids knew better than to take note of that. Cersei hated the cumbersome ‘Regent’ addendum.

Brienne complied as quickly as she could, wondering how her day had gotten so eventful. Never a dull moment in King’s Landing. When she arrived at the throne room, Cersei indeed looked impatient. Jaime was there as well, watching Cersei with curiosity.

“Brienne of Tarth, you are not invited to dinner tonight.” Cersei’s voice seemed full of scorn. Had she learned of the sleeping arrangements on the ship? Brienne glanced at Jaime for reassurance. He seemed equally dumbfounded.

“Now kneel.” Brienne obeyed. Could Cersei have heard about some of the things Jaime confessed when he was raving? She’d take their secrets to her grave.

“You will give me your sword. Leave your armor in a pile, including your boots. Strip down to your tunic, for it’s important to show humility.” Cersei’s voice had softened a little. Brienne saw Jaime’s mouth twist into a wide, involuntary grin.

“You will spend the night fasting in holy contemplation before the statue of the Warrior. On the morrow, if your vigil has shown you worthy, you will be dubbed a knight of the realm.”

It took Brienne a few tries to get an appropriate response out of her mouth. ‘You can not’ was never something one said to a queen. ‘I can not accept’ was equally unsayable; she desired the honor from the bottom of her heart. Finally she choked out, “Why?”

“You have to ask? You brought Myrcella home safely from a coup we never even suspected. You brought Jaime back as well, almost intact. I considered appointing you to the King’s Guard in place of Ser Arys, but I think this is better. Some in the King’s Guard have recently proven unworthy, but you are the very definition of a true knight.”

 

Cersei had planned a welcome dinner for Myrcella and Jaime with all their favorite dishes. Myrcella soured the event by first insisting that Trystane be allowed to attend, and then continuously remarking to him about the blandness of the food or that she hadn’t enjoyed that dish since she was a little girl. Jaime watched Cersei smile falsely through most of the meal. He did what he could to jest with Trystane and diffuse tensions. Finally, when the children were sent off to bed, and a guard put on Myrcella’s door, the twins could speak freely.

“Give it some time. She’s trying to impress him and it’s the nature of the age to assert her independence.” _We certainly did_. “He’s a fine, young man.”

“Yes, and she’s a girl. Unflowered. They spend too much time together. It’s improper.”

_As if you’ll want them together more once she’s flowered._ “I’m sure she’ll want to resume her lessons – sewing, harp, whatever else – and he’ll want to train in the yard. Let them catch their breath. This is good. It’s going to work out.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps something will happen. It’s only a betrothal; it could be set aside. You know he could have thanked your for defending her. Ruining your face.”

Jaime winced. “He has, many times, and it will heal.” _Mostly._ Jaime did think he appeared a bit lopsided in the looking glass. Surely Cersei could overlook it in time.

“Good. Have you heard? Father certainly landed on his feet. I have word from Castle Black that he’s been elected the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Apparently he’d barely said his vows before he got involved in their politics.”

Jaime laughed uproariously, glad at the change in subject. “Are we sure Jeor Mormont was dead before he got there?”

“That’s the story anyway,” she smirked.

 

They were between High Septons at the moment, but Cersei had no trouble securing a priest to preside over the investiture. She’d only had to find one who’d taken a vow of celibacy and wear a low-cut gown. She felt no remorse. The church must be aware how open it left itself to manipulation. She was only working within the system as it was presented to her.

The family gathered to watch the ceremony as Brienne was led into the throne room, tired and bloody kneed from kneeling all night. Cersei had promised to send Lord Tarth an official proclamation. Brienne hoped he’d be proud rather than scandalized. The young priest didn’t miss a word as he prayed over Brienne and anointed her with the seven oils.

King Tommen needed both of his delicate hands to hold the longsword steady. They’d practiced with Widow’s Wail, but Tommen had nicked the poor squire who’d knelt in substitution for Brienne three times. They decided to proceed with the Pride of the West, an older sword that had not been sharpened in quite a while. It wouldn’t do for the king to accidentally open Brienne's throat while trying to grant her a title.

The king's young voice rang out, “Brienne of House Tarth, in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women.” Tommen got the words right. Joffrey would have sounded more sure of himself, Cersei thought, but then again he may have resisted the idea entirely. There was something to be said for her youngest child’s agreeable nature.

The vows went on and on, just as Jaime had said. Brienne tried to take them all into her heart, pausing only to wipe away tears. _Since when have I been one for crying?_ When she was finally given leave to rise (as Ser Brienne, a strange title she didn’t think she’d use any more than Lady), Cersei handed her Oathkeeper to buckle around her waist. She only needed a moment to spot the difference: during the night, the lions decorating the pommel and scabbard had their eyes switched from rubies to sapphires.

 


	22. The Vale

Much to Tyrion’s surprise, he found Brienne geared and ready to depart for the Vale with his selected band of knights and retainers. He had mentioned when he planned to leave, but hadn’t expected more than a fond goodbye.

“Did you tell anyone you were coming?”

“Yes, the queen knows.” Brienne had felt obligated to ask, even though she wasn’t under anyone’s direct command. Cersei had merely said ‘yes, of course’ in a distracted manner, and that had been the end of it.

“Anyone else?” Good gods, she could be mulish. Tyrion might have thought she was acting thick earlier in their relationship, but he recognized the studied avoidance now.

“No. He’ll notice I’m gone or he won’t. Anyway, I wanted to help you…and also to be out of King’s Landing for a while.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, ignoring the many signals in her closed body language that she did not. People tended to forgive dwarves a lack of social grace, especially in cases like this when they plainly had something to get off their chests.

“Is it my imagination, or are they together all the time now? I don’t think I’ve spent five minutes alone with either of them since we returned from Dorne. And at night, too. I understand that I’m jealous,” she chanced a look at Tyrion, hoping he wasn’t dismissing all she said for that reason. “It’s incautious, though. They shouldn’t be so blatant about it.”

“No, they shouldn’t. It’s concerned me as well; it’s definitely not your imagination. I think much of it has to do with Myrcella. She’s proving more difficult to manage than Cersei had predicted. Oberyn Martell is troubling her as well. He’s probably getting up to mischief, but she can’t know for sure because Varys has disappeared into thin air. She’s convinced the Tyrells killed Joffrey but there’s nothing to tie the murder to them, so they sit there smelling like, well, roses. I think in all the chaos, she’s going back to her first source of comfort.” He let a beat pass, then added, “They’re not trying to hurt you, either of them.”

“I know that. I do. She wouldn’t have knighted me if she didn’t care. It’s just hard to be around them all the time. A bit of fresh air and distance will help, I think.”

Tyrion doubted that two weeks travel each way would be enough to solve her problems, but perhaps it was for the best that she wasn’t waiting around, allowing herself to be tortured.

“I’m grateful that you’ve come, though you’re probably too good to enjoy my favorite pastimes for the road.” He regarded her gentle eyes with a smirk on his lips. “I suppose I’ll have to tell all my embarrassing stories about young Cersei to someone else. Along with the bawdy rumors, of course.” She was laughing deep from her belly before they even found the King’s Road.

 

Jaime would have given his right arm to set Cersei’s mind at ease. She barely slept anymore, and not for pleasant reasons. Some nights she would only doze for a moment before starting awake with a troubled groan. He knew her maids were growing suspicious of his frequent visits, but so far, they carried on fetching baths and changing bed linens as usual.

Joffrey’s death obviously still plagued her mind. Jaime felt guilty not to have more sorrow about losing the boy, but the best he could muster was regret. If only he’d had a loving father; if only he’d been less indulged. If only his entire life hadn’t been a lie. Cersei had begun to cling to Myrcella and Tommen with a fanatic fervor and brood over them constantly. Myrcella resented it and pushed her away in favor of Trystane. Tommen thought he was falling short in her eyes and cringed from every reprimand. That she constantly compared him to Joffrey did nothing to help.

Now on top of it all, Brienne had disappeared. His wench might not be the world’s most eloquent orator, but she could listen and then give him one of those half-smiles that made him think the future might not be so bleak.

“I didn’t see Brienne yesterday, not even at dinner,” he told Cersei. “It isn’t like her to miss a meal.”

“She went with Tyrion to the Vale.”

“S-she did?” Jaime couldn’t keep himself from sputtering. “Whatever for?”

“She’s fond of him. I couldn’t say why. They’ll be back in a month or so.”

“One little brother helping another, hmm?” he joked, trying to cheer himself. It was going to be a long month.

“Don’t call her that!” Cersei snapped. “It can’t be her. She loves me.”

Jaime gaped his incomprehension.

“The prophecy. I’ve told you about the prophecy.”

“You told me there was _a_ prophecy from some old woods witch. We laughed about it; you never took it seriously.”

“That was before Joffrey got his golden shroud. Now it seems the Stranger is coming for us all. My enemies have me surrounded. I can’t protect my children.”

“Cersei!” He’d never seen her like this before, irrational and terrified.

“I must find some way to avert it. I’ve spoken with Pycelle; he says prophecy is superstitious nonsense. I can feel it though, Jaime, closing around my throat. I’m choking on it like Joffrey.”

“Cersei, no one is going to hurt you or the children. The best knights in the land protect the family. We have food tasters, maesters-”

“Maesters, yes, but not the right ones. I need you to do something for me. Go to Harrenhal and fetch back that chainless maester you told me about. I wager someone like him has studied the greater mysteries and developed some theories about them.”

“That’s a long trip. Are you sure he can help you?”

“I can think of no one who could ease my mind better.”

Jaime considered; if he went to Harrenhal, he’d be most of the way to the Vale. He could join up with Brienne and Tyrion for the return trip. That seemed a most agreeable option for all involved.

 

When Tyrion’s group arrived at the Bloody Gate, most were awed by either the majesty or the impregnability. High watchtowers build into the stone of the surrounding mountains overlooked a pass so narrow that it was nearly single-file. Any army attempting to force its way through would be chewed to ribbons before reaching the Vale proper. Tyrion could not hope to storm the valley, but planned to make himself highly inconvenient.

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” asked the Knight of the Gate, Ser Donnel Waynwood.

“Tyrion Lannister and companions. I’ve come for my wife, Sansa Stark Lannister. Your lord should have had word.” Tyrion had sent a raven before they left and two more during the trip. Baelish would have a hard time pretending ignorance.

“Yes, my Lord, you are expected. You may enter and ride along to the Gates of the Moon. Everyone is gathered there; the Eyrie has been shut up for the coming winter.”

“Thank you,” Tyrion said loudly. Turning to Brienne, he quietly added, “Don’t miss a chance to take bread and salt once we’re at the castle. I mistrust when Littlefinger makes anything easy.”

“Why would that matter? Couldn’t he just lift a leaf from your father’s book?”

“No, the Lords Declarant are not the Freys. They’d turn on him in an instant.”

The party wound its way through the narrow mountain pass, each hour seeming more oppressive than the one before. The knowledge that armed watchmen stood ready to fill them full of crossbow bolts from unassailable positions made every moment tense. Even the horses became skittish. Finally, the path ahead opened up into the fertile valley protected by the Mountains of the Moon. Brienne felt she could finally breath easy again. The Vale’s air was clean, humid, and still retained the autumn's warmth. She sweated inside her armor but, per Tyrion’s warnings, kept on her guard.

Travel to the castle proved far easier than through the pass. Spirits were higher and the horses more cooperative. By the time they saw the slender man waiting outside the squat castle, they had nearly forgotten the menace of their entry. Tyrion rode forth to greet Lord Baelish.

“Lord Baelish, how good of you to receive us in person.”

“It was no trouble. I trust you had a safe journey. I believe the clans in the foothills still sing of the Half-man with admiration.”

“Indeed,” Tyrion said icily. “How is my wife?”

“Quite well. She has proven most attentive to her studies, and I’ve put her to good use,” Baelish said, leaving Tyrion to speculate about what he meant.

“I dearly hope I get to kill that man someday,” Tyrion remarked to Brienne.

 

Lady Sansa Lannister waited in the great hall to greet her husband and offer hospitality to their guests. She had matured a great deal in body and mind during her time in the Vale. Though still on the young side for Tyrion, he was having trouble keeping his eyes off her. She had lost much of her youthful naïveté and no longer seemed prone to indulge in wistful daydreams. Brienne was heartened to see that her less idealistic worldview also kept Lord Baelish at a greater distance.

Tyrion was tempted to scoop up his wife and set back upon the trail that very evening. His soldiers would surely object, however, so he accepted Baelish’s generous invitation to spend the next two nights in the Vale to rest and resupply. Tyrion had suspected Baelish would also choose to leave the Vale for some manufactured reason or another, but he declared he would stay to help the young Lord Arryn manage his affairs.

Littlefinger entertained his guests with vast quantities of wine and musicians who played loud, bawdy songs that tended to draw in the audience. Tyrion eschewed most drink but still largely failed to speak with Sansa due to the noise. Later, and while seeming quite drunk, Littlefinger told a long, self-deprecating story about his doomed romance with Catelyn Stark. Before he’d even become a man grown, he’d challenged her betrothed to a duel. He’d lost, so badly that he needed two weeks to recuperate. What’s worse, he said, she hadn’t even granted him her favor, giving it to his rival Brandon Stark instead. “It always hurts to be someone’s second choice,” he said, looking Brienne in the eyes and suddenly seeming stone cold sober.

“We’ll have to dice for who gets Littlefinger,” Brienne told Tyrion cryptically the next day.

 

They’d been back on the road for less than a week when Tyrion’s forward scout came to him with news of two riders, one of whom he believed to be Ser Jaime. Tyrion and Brienne rode forth to see, Brienne’s heart galloping with what she told herself were mixed emotions.

Jaime broke into a broad grin at seeing them. “I was in the area,” he said, taking in his siblings (but only the one little brother; Cersei had been insistent he stop using that nickname for Brienne).

“Four days in the wrong direction is some area,” his companion remarked sourly. He and Brienne recognized one another at the same time. Her mouth twisted into a scowl, but he was more interested in her hand. “You there! How is the finger?”

“Um, still gone.” She pulled off her glove to show him. “It did heal nicely though, with no infection at all.”

Qyburn came over to examine it, turning her hand carefully like it was a fine piece of jewelry. “Well, good then,” he said, but in fact he was quite disappointed. The fetal finger he’d sown under her skin should have sprouted, but it seemed she’d just absorbed it. Oh well, where would be the fun if every experiment was a success?

 

Jaime spoke of nothing of consequence while on the road. However, when they camped for the night, he pulled Tyrion and Brienne into an isolated spot.

“We need to talk about Cersei,” he said, his agitation finally breaking through his casual demeanor. Tyrion couldn’t have agreed more, though Brienne looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

“She’s having serious problems keeping the business of the realm in order. She’s distracting herself from real issues by chasing phantoms. She barely listens to the small council and expects complete obedience – hells, fawning obedience from all around her. You can see how she’s losing touch in her knighting Brienne.”

Brienne’s head shot up. “You don’t think I deserved it?”

“Of course you did, but that’s not the point. She didn’t care what anyone else thought. She didn’t ask for advice or opinion before she uprooted centuries of tradition. She just did it because she wanted to. That’s dangerous in a ruler.

“She can barely sleep; she wakes me with nightmares several times a night. It all comes down to this prophecy she received when she was a girl. It told about the valonqar that would destroy her someday. She didn’t know at the time that word meant ‘little brother,’ but once she found out, she never trusted Tyrion. I’m starting to worry the city is not safe for him while she’s under the power of this delusion. I’m hoping Qyburn can break her out of it.”

“Excuse me,” Brienne said, “I should check on Lady Sansa.” She went over to speak with Tyrion’s wife.

Tyrion’s frustration could barely be contained. “Did you really just complain — to Brienne — that Cersei’s nightmares were keeping you awake? After you implied Cersei shouldn’t have honored her? Have you taken a blow to the head recently?”

“I wasn’t talking of my personal comfort. I’m trying to tell you the queen’s mind is troubled.”

“Truly, you don’t see the problem?”

“Do you? Cersei could have you in a black cell and no one would ever know about it. I say you should take Sansa to Casterly Rock. Assume your rightful seat as Lord. Send Uncle Kevan back if he’ll come; sometimes he can get through to her.”

“I will think on it. Now will you think on how your words may have hurt Brienne?”

“You believe she feels slighted because I questioned Cersei’s knighting her. I’ll speak to her about it. I understand.”

Tyrion doubted he did, but counseled himself to be patient. At this time, telling Jaime he had to make a choice could backfire. His gallant nature might force him to save the woman in turmoil and reject the one who could plainly take care of herself.

 

Brienne made her escape in Lady Sansa’s direction because she noticed her packing. She’d only take a few items at a time, but surely and steadily, she was building a kit to escape.

“Where would you go?” Brienne asked softly.

Sansa turned to face her showing no surprise, guilt, or even excitement.

“You must know the roads are not safe for a young woman traveling along. The only place you have family left is Riverrun, and it’s under siege. Where would you go?”

“The Wall. My brother is there; he’d take me in.”

“Tywin Lannister rules the Wall now. He would send you right back.” Never mind that she’d not make it there in the first place. “King’s Landing is the safest place for you.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you think I’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

Brienne bit her lip. She’d been on the other side of this argument with Tyrion, and she’d said nearly the same thing.

“Casterly Rock,” Brienne realized suddenly. “You and Tyrion are Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock. That’s a safe place. Secure, out of the conflict zone, and far away from court.”

“I am the Lady of Casterly Rock,” Sansa said. She hadn’t fully realized the implications before. Her marriage to Tyrion seemed like such pure political theater that she’d never pictured them living at the grand castle in the west. Commanding the Lannister armies that surrounded Riverrun.

“You’re right, Lady Brienne. That’s exactly where I need to be.”

 


	23. King's Landing XII - Questioning

Jaime fell into step beside Brienne. She might have chosen to lead her horse ahead for legitimate reasons, but it felt like she was avoiding him. They still had a long way to go until reaching King’s Landing, and he didn’t want any misunderstandings to linger. “Tyrion says I’m an idiot,” he said.

“I’m pretty sure he says that about all of us,” she replied, silently blessing Tyrion. His bluntness could be startling, but now that she’d grown used to it, she saw its value.

“For the record, I think knighting you was the right thing to do. I’m just not sure it was smart. Politics, you know? Right and smart don’t line up as often as we’d like. It’s done, though, and if it makes you happy, then I think it’s wonderful.”

It was a decent apology. Maybe not perfect, but well intended and full of love. Him all over. “Could we just walk together quietly for a while?” Brienne asked. She tentatively put an arm around his waist and leaned into his shoulder. Being with him always lifted her spirits, but she didn’t want him to mess that up with his famously cutting mouth. She also didn’t want to talk about her other reason to be upset quite yet.

“Of course.” He returned the gesture, and felt her gentle sigh. Keeping his mouth shut took heroic efforts. He threw away a thousand quips and observations, even some compliments, to preserve her time of peace. They led their horses along, practically cuddling and gradually fell behind the rest of the party.

“I love you,” she whispered, breaking the silence once she saw they were alone. She put a finger over his mouth, which gaped open a tad. “Not yet. I love you, and I always will. The same way you and Cersei love each other. I’ve been jealous, but I understand better now. You may not feel the same way about me as I do about you, but it’s enough that you love me even as your brother, like Tyrion. I can accept that.” She removed her finger to show he could talk again.

Jaime’s reply lacked his usual wit and playfulness. Brienne didn’t tend to spill forth so many words at once, so he had a lot to unpack in a hurry. “I love you, too. Like Cersei, not Tyrion. I’ve never gotten hard for Tyrion, I promise you that. And Cersei has already said we’re not to call you brother anymore. For reasons to do with the prophecy, but perhaps she also sees a shift has occurred. So. You’re my sister. And, most everyone knows how I feel about my sister. Sisters.”

“What do we do now?” She had at least one idea.

“You know, I’ve never courted a woman openly before, with flowers and bad poetry. Would you like that?”

She would, very much, but- “You’re King’s guard.”

“As long as I don’t marry you or get you with child, I’ll not have broken another vow. What do you say?”

“I would like that,” she said, forcing the words from her throat. Even after all this time, she feared admitting her tender heart. She turned to present her lips for a kiss, but he was already swooping in on her old position, so he got her neck instead. That was a nice place to be kissed, it turned out.

When they caught up with the others after sunset, Tyrion cast an appraising eye towards Brienne as she bustled about helping to arrange dinner.

“She’s in a much better mood. You must have apologized well,” he told Jaime. “Of course, she would be skipping if you’d put your cock in her. Women enjoy that, in case you haven’t heard.”

Jaime looked almost as flustered as Brienne would have if he’d said that to her. “Just because she would let me doesn’t make it right. She’ll not sacrifice her honor for me.”

_I knew it, you damn noble fool._ “Let you…it’s not something you do to her; it’s something you do together. Like a hobby. You two could stand to have more common interests than practicing with swords and fretting over Cersei.”

“We fret over you, too. And your ability to find trouble.”

“Perhaps distance will help there. I’ve discussed it with Sansa. We’ve come around to the idea that Casterly Rock will be the best place to spend the coming winter.”

Jaime felt himself relax. This move should help relieve Cersei’s tensions as well as his own. Once spring came again, Cersei would be sure to see that all this prophecy talk dissolved into nonsense, just as Pycelle said.

 

During the month that passed since Tyrion’s expedition left for the Vale, changes had continued to rapidly reshape King’s Landing. Refugees from the war poured in, most with no food or money to buy it. Thieves, prostitutes, and beggars were everywhere. Cersei had doubled the number of gold cloaks in an effort to control the chaos, but most of the new men were loyal only to coin and thus imminently bribable.

A new High Septon had been elected and ensconced within the Sept of Baelor, bringing along his rabble of followers. He and Cersei came to an agreement about reinstating the Faith Militant – the Warrior’s Sons and the Poor Fellows – in exchange for forgiveness of the crown’s debts. Between untrained gold cloaks and disorganized martial orders, the city swarmed with contradictory authorities.

One of Cersei’s staunchest allies on the small council, Lord Rosby, finally succumbed to his coughing malady. In her disturbed state of mind, Cersei assumed he had been murdered and came close to openly accusing the Tyrells of the crime. Oberyn Martell, of all people, cautioned restraint, pointing out that King’s Landing still needed Highgarden’s food to keep from exploding into riots and mob violence. Cersei appointed the passive Lord Merryweather as Hand and kept her peace for the time being.

Brienne had a package from her father waiting in her room. Inside was a knight’s tabard detailed in Tarth’s sigil and colors. His letter spoke of his beaming pride in her accomplishments and promised that the entire island felt the same. The next time she returned home, he would throw a gala in her honor. She wasn’t sure she’d be taking him up on that, however, because he also hinted about the many young, available men who would be sure to attend.

Cersei welcomed Jaime and Brienne back home with a hearty feast, relieved that no misfortune had befallen them on the roads. She invited Qyburn as well and soon started to interrogate him about matters of prophecy and fate. She liked the answers he gave, and by the end of the evening, Qyburn had been named the new Master of Whispers.

Jaime approached Myrcella carefully about how she had known the truth of her parentage. She met his gaze, clear-eyed and direct. Princess Arianne would have grown to regret trying to manipulate this one, Jaime thought.

“The day I was sent to Dorne, I looked back to see Mother on the docks. She stood there bravely, but I could tell she was sad. She let no one touch her, not even Tommen. I thought at the time that it was too bad you weren’t there, since you could always make her smile. I didn’t understand what it meant until I came to know Trystane. Then I could see how being with the person you love always makes your heart lighter. By the time Stannnis’ rumors reached us in Dorne, I’d already become convinced, though of course I didn’t say anything to anyone. If the love is real, you should never be ashamed of it.”

“I’m so proud to have you as a daughter, Myrcella. I hope you will always carry that in your heart. You cannot tell anyone, though, not even Trystane. It is most certainly grounds for a revolt that would end with all our heads on spikes.”

“I understand, Father. Trystane doesn’t know.”

“Uncle, please. You have to call me Uncle.”

“I’m sorry. Of course.”

“Good. Can you also make more of an effort to get along with your mother? We almost lost you; it scared the piss out of both of us. You can perhaps forgive her for grasping you as close as she can.”

“I will. She’s teaching me to embroider lions and suns on a doublet for Trystane.”

“See? She’s making an effort as well,” Jaime said, genuinely surprised.

 

Brienne sat to breakfast, single-mindedly tucking into her ham and scrambled eggs. A month on the road had reminded her how precious fresh, well-prepared food could be. The kitchens here still even had fruit. She jumped as she felt Cersei’s fingers entwine into hers.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Yes, my queen?” Brienne hated the squeaky way her voice sounded. Cersei always made her so nervous, even when she had nothing to feel guilty about.

“A representative from the Iron Bank of Braavos passed along some tales about the Dragon Queen rising in the east. They say she’s young and beautiful,” Cersei paused to give a shake of her head and try to get back on track. “More importantly, that two Westerosi knights and a bald eunuch serve her. I wonder if that is where Barristan the Bold and my Spider have ended up. If so, the Dragon Queen could be privy to many of the city’s — and the family’s — secrets. Jaime would know these men on sight. I want you and Jaime to go investigate this alleged Targaryen and tell me what you find. Try to see what kind of forces are under her command and how many of the crazy tales about her past are true.”

“I would be honored, Your Grace. When do we depart?”

“Tomorrow. That means you only have one more chance beforehand to visit with me,” Cersei said, almost sounding…shy?

“At night?” Brienne asked, feeling entirely foolish, “No one just goes to visit the queen. At night. You invited me once, but I didn’t think that meant…anytime.”

“Of course you can. I wish you would.”

“Okay,” Brienne mouthed, though no actual sound came out. Cersei ran her fingers along the back of Brienne’s neck as she left, leaving her all kinds of unsettled.

Seconds afterward, Jaime joined Brienne at the table. He’d obviously been watching. “I wanted to give you two a moment to talk. That looked sweet. See, she’s doing better already with Tyrion out of sight out of mind and Qyburn here. If we can bring her back reassuring news from Essos, then I think she may start to feel like her old self again.”

“She wants me t-“

“I heard. Don’t worry; women don’t count as far as your virtue is concerned.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. As I’ve told you. Repeatedly.” She (and Tyrion unbeknownst to her) had done their level best during the return trip to convince Jaime to abandon his unwanted protection. When the sausages spelling ‘FUCK HER’ didn’t even make him laugh, Tyrion proclaimed it was Brienne’s fault for being so stubborn it was apparently contagious.

“Then rest assured, if you can put up with a little jealousy, so can I.”

“Would you be jealous of me or her?”

“Both. That’s the hard part; I get what you were saying now.”

“I’m not jealous of you.”

“Okay.” Jaime’s lips pursed in amusement, “Remember, eye contact and don’t cross your arms if you want me to believe it.”

 

Brienne missed Tyrion. They had parted ways before entering the city, at the spot where the King’s Road met the Gold Road. Sending him and Sansa off to Casterly Rock had been the right decision. They would be safer there and give the crown a reliable source of information on happenings in the west. She trusted Tyrion’s judgment, though, and wished she could speak with him. He would have been able to help her sort out her swirling thoughts about Cersei. She tried to conjure him in her mind.

“What are you so scared of?” her inner Tyrion asked, “Do you think she’s going to pin you down and take you by force? You have at least a foot of height and 100 pounds on her. I think you can fend her off.”

“That’s not how it works. I can't tell her no.”

“You think not? Because I’m pretty sure she loves you. She wouldn’t want to make you do something you didn’t want to do. I don’t think you’ll end up hanging by your thumbs if you say you’d rather have a more traditional sisterly relationship.” That sounded more charitable toward Cersei than real Tyrion, but she took his point.

“She’s not herself right now. She’s…confused.”

“She is, or you are? Could you perhaps be scared that you want this more than you think you should?” Now _that_ sounded like Tyrion, annoying and surprising her with unacknowledged ideas from her own mind.

“I want Jaime,” she reaffirmed.

“Yes. You can want more than one person. I do it all the time.”

“I don’t even know what to do,” she admitted practically.

The memory of Septa Roelle spoke up: “What you do is tell her no. You’re a good girl; you don’t engage in those sorts of activities. Your poor father. Why do you have to be such a trial to him?”

“Stay out of this, you withered cunt,” her Tyrion replied, making Brienne smile to herself in a deserted corridor. It was nice to have big brothers again.

“I’ll go to her. To make sure there's nothing else she needed to discuss.”

“There's not. But tell yourself whatever you need to get there.”

“We'll talk about it. And, if it comes to it, I've kissed her before. If we go slow I may, however reluctantly, be able to do as she wants.”

“Sure. Go with that.”

And so she did, making it all the way to within sight of Cersei’s suspiciously unguarded door before confusion halted her steps. Another woman was already there.

 


	24. King's Landing XIII - Fate

Brienne took a deep breath to calm her nerves and looked more closely at the woman outside Cersei’s rooms. It was only her handmaid, Dorcas. Brienne hadn’t recognized her for a second there.

“Did Her Grace summon you?” Brienne asked, to have something to say. It was a little late for her to be casually visiting, but not quite scandalous yet.

“Yes, she asked me to bring some wine,” Dorcas replied.

Brienne considered that wine would be most welcome in her present state of mind. _Nothing will happen that I don't want to happen_ _,_ she reminded herself. _I may be on the reluctant side, but I do trust her._ She summoned her courage and knocked on the door.

Cersei worked hard to make sure her smile of greeting didn’t turn into a smirk. She didn’t want Brienne to think she was mocking her, but she couldn’t deny a feeling of well-earned triumph. Brienne had come to visit wearing a dress — the dress Cersei had made for her — instead of her usual plain tunic. Sometimes her sweet sister had trouble believing she could be desirable, but she’d mostly gotten the message this time.

Cersei affectionately replaced a messy strand of hair behind Brienne’s ear. “Don’t you look pretty? But are you a septa? You need to pull it off the shoulders a bit.” Cersei tugged at Brienne’s sleeves and adjusted the bodice to a more stylish presentation.

Brienne’s heart immediately speed up at the touch of Cersei’s hands. ‘ _Reluctant’ may have been an overstatement_ , she admitted.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a bust like yours to show off, Your Grace.” Brienne said, surprising herself and then blushing as Dorcas entered her line of sight.

“Would you like some wine?” Cersei offered.

“Yes, thank you, Your Grace. We should be moderate, though. I know wine can calm the nerves, but too much will unsettle your sleep. I’d hate for that to be an issue. I mean, I only want to help.” _Calm. Down. And n_ _o wine for you if you already can’t stop babbling._

“You’ll drink at least enough to stop calling me Your Grace. If you want to help relax me, I’ll have Dorcas prepare us a bath.”

“That sounds lovely.” _I am quite certain I didn’t mishear that._ Brienne sipped her wine, trying not to overdo it. The last time she drank with a Lannister she’d ended up unconscious in her own bed, and that wasn’t exactly the plan for tonight.

A cauldron of water already hung in the fireplace. This request was not entirely unexpected, Brienne saw. Dorcas dipped a bucket out and carried it to the tub, her hips swaying provocatively. She returned to the cauldron with slow, graceful steps. Brienne found herself on her feet. Even with her mind already fogging from the wine, her keen sense for danger sounded an alert. Something was off. Dorcas…didn’t move like that.

Brienne grabbed her by the front of her shirt and shook her. She opened her mouth to ask ‘Who are you?’ but then the woman’s eyes flashed red and she knew.

 

“Brienne, what are you doing? Let her go. She has work to do.”

“Cersei, run! Find Jaime!” Brienne tightened her grip on the woman as more and more red started to leak through her disguise.

_Oh for the Lord’s sake._ “Your Grace!” she called.

Cersei looked over into the eyes of the woman she still saw as her faithful servant. As her eyes glowed solidly red, Melisandre extended her hand with the first and last fingers pointing to the ceiling. Once Cersei’s attention focused on her hand, she abruptly shifted the fingers to point to the floor. Cersei collapsed onto the ground in a limp pile.

Melisandre returned her attention to Brienne who still held her by the shirt and was preparing to punch her teeth in. “No,” she said, like a disapproving aunt. “You did not like being helpless last time. You would not like it any better now. I wish to talk as allies if you do not force me to act otherwise.”

Brienne’s eyes shifted to Melisandre’s hand, hoping for a bluff. She could see the powder concealed there, rich colors shimmering in the firelight. Cersei moaned softly from the ground. Brienne dropped Melisandre and knelt to examine her queen. “What did you do to her?”

“She sleeps. She is having a pleasant dream…about you I would wager.” Melisandre’s gaze drifted over Brienne’s body, notably more exposed than the last time they met.

Brienne stood with Cersei cradled in her arms, trying not to let her embarrassment show. She carried her to the bed where she’d be more comfortable. She did seem to be resting peacefully. Gods know she needs the sleep.

Melisandre had crept up close behind her, movements silent and languid as ever. She held a hand over Brienne’s chest. Brienne felt her lips pull back in revulsion from the unnatural heat. “Your fires burn bright and pure as ever, Beauty. The Lord has blessed you with many gifts.” Her attention shifted to Cersei. “Her, I had not met before. The flames showed me nothing good of her…until recently. So I came here to know the truth of it. There is an ember burning within her. She is not to be the Ice Queen. She will not give comfort to the King of Night.”

“Good?” Brienne said. “So will you leave us in peace then? Since we’re on the same side and all.”

“Her fire still burns low. Were you kindling her, I wonder?”

“Um…I don’t really,” _know how to talk to a crazy person,_ “I mean, I love her. I would help her any way I could.”

“Do not be ashamed. There is no wrong way to bring someone to the Lord of Light.”

That went a little too far. “I do not serve the Lord of Light,” Brienne growled.

Melisandre shook her head and smirked indulgently as if to say ‘not this again.’ “Would you like to hear what the fires have shown me about you?”

“Not particularly. From what I’ve seen, prophecy does more harm than good. Cersei’s been living in fear of one from her childhood. She’s tying herself in knots worrying that it’s coming true.”

Melisandre scoffed. “Some soothsaying from a wood’s witch, mostly likely. Even if she caught some spark of a truth, I doubt it could shine constant over such a long time. Only the divinely inspired words, like those about Azor Ahai, or the darkest magic from the temples of Asshai have the ability to pierce so many years. Do you think the prophetess was a High Priest or a blood mage?”

“No,” Brienne shook her head, a true smile of relief crossing her lips. “I believe Cersei did call her a wood’s witch, old and shabby.”

“An amusement for children then; nothing more. The grief of losing her son has put her mind in darkness. You must lead her into the light by showing her your love.”

“How?” _I mean, I was trying to…_

“Come look into the fires with me.” Melisandre beckoned Brienne to the fireplace. The flames had begun to burn low, but one could still make out patterns if one were so inclined.

“What am I trying to see?”

“Let your eyes relax and your thoughts drift. The Lord will reward you in His time.”

“I saw myself preparing to execute Stannis last time.”

“Yes, I have seen this as well.”

“You’ve realized he’s not your chosen one, then.”

“That is not true, child. He is mortal. His role will come to an end. The same is true for us all.”

The flames coalesced into bodies that were entwined. At first Brienne couldn’t quite make out who it was, but then…“Oh dear gods! What is she doing to me?” Brienne flushed bright red and turned to Melisandre in shock.

“God. There is only one. We do not speak of the Other. I do not see the same visions as you… but perhaps let your mind detach from passionate concerns. Think only of the fire.”

The flames blurred together. They appeared as flesh, but made from fire. The view moved back, showing her the body of a huge beast, flying over an open field. An army below had set to receive charge, but nothing could possibly hold back the dragon. It opened its maw and let forth a gout of flame. Soldiers vaporized, wagons burned, and shields melted into puddles of slag. This was not a foe any warrior could challenge. One of them could win a war, and Brienne saw three.

“Are the dragons on our side?” Brienne whispered.

“They are the Lord’s creatures. I can only hope their mistress guides them well.”

“The Dragon Queen.”

“Just so.” Melisandre grew pleased at Brienne’s progress. She had come to the most important vision right away. “Do you see more?”

Brienne giggled in surprise. “A septa is kissing Loras Tyrell. That seems unlikely.”

“The Wall, Beauty. Do you see the Wall?”

Brienne blinked at the urgency in her tone. “Yes. It’s the Wall. It goes up forever and off in the distance as far as the eye can see.”

“No breaches?”

Brienne shook her head. The constantly changing flames were giving her a hint of nausea that the wine and the musical voice of the witch did nothing to help.

Melisandre said, “I see a breach myself, but can not find its origin. Sometimes a new perspective is enlightening. Thank you for your trouble. We may not meet again until winter has come. Take care to keep your queen in the light.”

Melisandre rose from the hearth. Her hands were empty, Brienne saw. She killed Renly; she deserved no mercy. However, she also gave Cersei some of her life back tonight by casting doubt on the prophecy. Perhaps they had something of a truce for the time being.

“Have you ever seen her death in the flames?” Brienne asked.

“I have not. Nor yours. The brother’s yes, once, but you averted it. Another soldier reclaimed for the light.” Melisandre donned a radiant smile.

The ruby at Melisandre’s neck glowed, and suddenly Brienne beheld Dorcas again.

“Is the real Dorcas all right? And Ser Moore?”

“Ser Moore is used to being sent away when the queen has visitors. It took little suggestion. Dorcas dreams sweetly in her bed, though not quite as sweetly as your queen. You should undress her so she is not confused. The dream will feel very real.”

_Great. So now she’s going to expect me to know what to do next time. Shut up,_ Brienne directed at the part of her mind that began chortling at ‘next time’.

 

Once she was sure Melisandre had departed, Brienne tenderly undressed Cersei and tucked her into bed. She hesitated only a moment before undressing herself as well, climbing in beside her, and pulling her close. She hadn’t expected to be able to relax after the events of the evening. However, Cersei’s warmth and the unexpected comfort of their full body touch lulled her right to sleep.

Cersei awoke at daybreak to feel Brienne’s large hand cupping her breast. She stretched and turned to face her sleeping sister who had never appeared more content. The next singer Cersei heard going on about the purity of unrequited love was getting laughed out of the hall. Last night, now _that_ had been special. She kissed Brienne awake, growing pleased when she deepened the kiss, though rather surprised when Brienne lay back to pull Cersei on top of herself rather than struggling for dominance.

“Didn’t you get enough last night?” Cersei asked teasingly.

“I really didn’t,” came the eager response.

“And you’re not sore? I told you, you can’t always be the man. Not with me.”

_What the ever-screaming hells does she think we did? I haven’t the foggiest idea how that would even work._ “N-no. I’m fine. I’m tough. You can do whatever you like to me. Again.”

“Oh gods, I remember being so young and insatiable. Maybe I should only send Jaime to Essos and have you stay here with me,” Cersei said. Much to Brienne’s disappointment, however, she rose and began to dress.

“That sounds like a fine idea.” Melisandre’s words about helping Cersei walk in the light provided Brienne’s foremost, though not exclusive, motivation to concur.

Cersei's twinkling laugh rang out. “Aren’t you greedy? Good to know you’re not perfect. But no; I want you and Jaime to watch out for one another. Essos can be treacherous.”

“We need to watch out for _you_. Perhaps we should both stay. Is this mission really so important?” The dragonfire hitting the shield line and melting straight through. Open fields with no snow. It has to be somewhere in the south, in Cersei’s domain, and not terribly far in the future.

“Yes. If only half the rumors are true, she will be a real threat. I need to know her capabilities so I can plan how to meet them.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Brienne said in such a regretfully obedient tone that Cersei would grin thinking back to it for the rest of the week.

Funny though…she remembered clawing hard at Brienne’s back at least once, but when she dressed, Cersei saw there were no marks. She is tough.

 

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” Jaime accosted Brienne as she carried her travel trunk onto the ship bound for Braavos. His eyes positively danced; she didn’t think she’d ever seen him so amused.

“We’ll talk about it on the ship.”

“Are you simply too exhausted? Because she had only excellent-“

“On the ship, I said. In private. It’s actually important.”

“Whatever you did with her or to her; thank you! She came to the small council in a wonderful mood. We talked about appointing a new Master of Coin, debt issues, troops movement, the over-reaching of the new High Septon — real concerns of the realm. Afterward, there was no mention of prophecies or conspiracies. She wasn’t obsessing about Myrcella and Tommen. She was her old self again. Focused. In control. I don’t care whether you just sat with her, read her poetry, or fucked her brains out; well done!”

“I appreciate you yelling about that so everyone could hear. By the way, it wasn’t me.”

“That…um, wasn’t the plan. So, who-“

“By the gods, can you not shut up?” Brienne dumped her trunk unceremoniously at the foot of a stevedore, glaring at Jaime as he flipped him a coin. She pulled Jaime aside to the aft deck, finding as much privacy as they could find as the ship was loaded. Jaime listened with only moderate interruptions as she filled him in on their encounter with the Red Woman. She told him of most of the visions she saw in the flames. (He didn’t need to know about the…mouth thing).

“So, from what I can tell, the dragons are real, but the prophecy isn’t. That’s good, on balance, right?” she asked.

“I don’t know. If this Dragon Queen comes for King’s Landing, I don’t think Cersei’s going to meekly step aside.” The very image of Cersei hopping off the throne in favor of a queen half her age made both of them grimace at the dark absurdity.

“That would be a very ugly war. And we’d lose,” Brienne said.

“Then it’s our responsibility to make sure it doesn’t come to that,” Jaime replied.

 


	25. Braavos

The great Braavosi galley, the _Lady Bright,_ far and away exceeded the size and speed of any ship Brienne had ever known. Brienne could handle a skiff as well as she could ride a horse, and had occasionally traveled by trireme between Tarth and the mainland. However, even Oberyn Martell’s luxurious cog couldn’t compare to the galley designed for voyages on the open sea. “Ninety oarsmen, thirty to a shift, so the rowers are always fresh,” the captain boasted.

Jaime had traveled across the Narrow Sea before, but Brienne had not. She couldn’t resist inspecting the workings of the grand ship during their journey. After a while, the sailors noticed that she had some relevant skills. Strength, endurance, and a helpful attitude are always useful at sea, and before long some of the crew began to grow fond of her. Too fond, as well as a step too familiar, in Jaime’s opinion.

Torgio, a sailor native to Braavos, lay his hands on Brienne’s shoulders, pushing her toward the fore of the ship. “Come, see. You will not be sorry. The greatest of the Wonders Made by Man: The Titan of Braavos.”

The Titan stood astride two mountains on different small islands lining the mouth of the lagoon. Its bronze torso and black granite legs towered hundreds of feet into the sky. The Titan’s mighty countenance faced the sea, fierce well-wrought features appearing ready to march out to meet any challengers, just as the legends said. Looking closely, Brienne could see that there was some truth to the legends. The Titan was no true statue at all, but more like a fortress. Murder holes and arrow slits lined its legs and torso. The beacon fires that made up the Titan’s eyes seemed to watch the _Lady Bright_ for treachery as it approached.

The Titan roared as they prepared to enter the lagoon. Even those passengers who’d been told what to expect were shocked by the elemental force of the sound. Its volume put an end to all conversation on ship until the echos had died from everyone’s ears.

Torgio said, “Look up quick, Wench, and you’ll see the largest dong in the known world.”

Unfamiliar with the Braavosi slang for 'cock,' Brienne had to take a second to puzzle it out from context. The Titan of Braavos is not, in fact, anatomically correct. The jape was a old favorite of the regulars of that port, used to find new gambling buddies. Anyone gullible enough to look was considered a prime mark. Brienne might have fallen for it had Jaime not interrupted, offended on her behalf.

“Did you just name my lady ‘Wench’?” he demanded.

Brienne’s mouth fell open.

“No offense meant, my lord. The lady understands it to be a term of endearment, yes?”

“Indeed, _Ser Jaime_ ,” Brienne grumbled, though her amusement bubbled too near the surface to properly feign anger. Torgio moved on with a flash of his golden tooth. “What is wrong with you? Are you trying to start a fight?”

Jaime stretched. He did feel restless now that she mentioned it. “Maybe. Might do us some good after being penned up on that ship for a week. What do you say? We’ll find an inn, have some dinner, then strap on the steel, and find some bravos to tangle with on the canals.”

“I think settling down in the common room after dinner and talking to the people there would be more productive.”

“Ever dutiful, there’s my wen-…lady.” Jaime said, having the self-awareness to look abashed.

 

Jaime booked them the nicest private room at the inn. Brienne found it too large, reminiscent of Harrenhal, but he wanted to maintain the Lannister reputation for excess since he claimed it loosed tongues. They were to pretend to be married again, but Brienne entertained no illusions that they would act accordingly.

Jaime had two modes with her since leaving King’s Landing: brotherly and courtly. With brotherly, they would spar and chat, discussing the mission or their family, anything but romance. Brotherly had the advantage of familiarity, even if it still contained some yearning. Courtly still felt odd, like a pair of boots not quite broken in. They’d only tried it a few times, and while pleasant, they still needed practice. He would bow; she would try to curtsy. She’d walk to dinner on his arm. They would talk about art and poetry. He’d try to come up with compliments that didn’t make her self conscious. She wondered if it would ever feel less shallow.

Jaime seemed to be trying, however clumsily, to prove to himself he could separate the kinship and romantic aspects of their relationship. Perhaps they should stop pretending she could be more than a brother, Brienne sometimes feared. Then again, their brotherly conversations were much more intimate, in truth. It may be that they would have to live with the intertwining. As usual, Brienne felt confused around him, but it was of a happy sort.

They had come to dinner this evening in brotherly fashion because she insisted on discussing the mission. Braavos was not meant to be a significant stop on their trip, since Slaver’s Bay lay far to the east. Jaime, however, felt that a few days here could help them learn the state of the land. As a huge port, Braavos hosted ships from all of Essos. “We’ll hear a lot of lies and half-fantasies this far away, but even the sort of tales they invent will tell us something,” he said.

“How so?”

“Well, if former slaves say she feeds the hungry and clothes the poor, you’d have to wonder why they’re here and not there. They’d be recruiting for her army. On the other hand, if people flee her lands and describe her as a monster, you ask what was their situation before? They may be former slave owners, willing to say anything to sour the reputation of the upstart queen who took what they saw as their rightful property.”

Brienne nodded grimly. Braavos had been founded by escaped slaves, so slavery was forbidden here. However, they would come face to face with it before long. She cast her eyes around the room, looking for anyone interesting.

“Jaime, those are men of the Night’s Watch, are they not?” They were curious Watchmen, to be sure, an enormously fat young man accompanying quite possibly the oldest maester Brienne had ever seen. The black clothing and cloaks as well as their Westerosi accents gave little room for doubt.

“This would seem rather far afield for them to be recruiting.”

“I’m going to see if they have news of Stannis and the war in the North.”

Jaime knew better than to try to stop her. Ever since the visit from the Red Woman, Brienne had been dropping hints that she planned to head North once they returned home. Jaime could understand her dedication to what she saw as her duty. Still, he felt his life would be happier if both women he loved resolved to disregard prophecy.

Brienne brought two steaming bowls of stew from the bar. Had they been soldiers, she would have chosen ale, but the big fellow obviously appreciated food and the maester looked as if he could use some. “Hello,” she said, “I heard your speech and couldn’t resist greeting some other Westerosi here in this strange city. How are you finding it?”

“Well, so far we’ve lost-” the young man began, but the maester interrupted him with a ‘tssk’. He was blind, Brienne could now tell, but his eyes were still expressive. Right now he seemed puzzled. He reached out his hands and gently ran them over her face.

“I remember you as taller,” he said.

“That’s certainly the first time I’ve ever heard that,” Brienne replied, bemused.

“Where is Egg?”

“I can have them bring you something else to eat, good maester.”

“The dragons have hatched, Dunk,” he said. “Egg would be so happy to see them. White, Green, and Black. So beautifully they soar in my dreams.” The ancient maester appeared briefly happy and guileless as a young child, then he suddenly looked troubled. “Tell him that wildfire is not the answer. He’s going to destroy himself trying to unleash the dragons. They’ve ever been the grief and glory of our House.”

“I’m sorry. He’s grown a bit confused of late,” the fat man said.

“Do you have any news from the Wall?” Brienne asked.

“Only that it’s a good time to be away. Stannis Baratheon arrived in time defend us from the wildling attacks. Now he wants to take the choice men – Watch and wildling captives both – for his army. The Golden Hand refused that, of course, and so now they’re at loggerheads.”

“The Golden Hand?”

“Oh, I meant Lord Commander Tywin. Because he used to he Hand of the King and a Lannister. Anyway, they both only want to give the other the rejects, and the wildlings don’t really want any part of either of them. They were just trying to get south of the Wall before winter came in full.”

“What brought you here, then, if so much is happening in the North?”

“This was meant to be but a waypoint for us on our journey to Old Town, but then maester Aemon took ill and I feared he’d not survive continuing at sea. We hoped he’d recover on land, but…” he trailed off, seemingly not willing say aloud that his companions prospects looked no better now.

“Try to get him to eat,” she said to the young brother with kind eyes.

Brienne spoke to the innkeeper about sending some poached eggs and fried bread to the old maester. “Please see that they have everything they require. We will pay their costs.”

“Yes, your husband already said,” the innkeeper replied with a gentle smile.

“We have family serving in the Watch. We like to help when we can.”

 

The busy port city of Braavos always teemed with rumors, and a girl was tasked to listen and learn from them. Today, she could report as a fact that Jaime Lannister arrived this morning aboard the _Lady Bright_ from King’s Landing. Jaime Lannister did not have a place in a girl's nightly prayer, but his sister did. He had been the captive of Arya Stark’s mother at the time she swore vengeance against the queen. However, he had once visited her home and was easily recognizable. He and a large, blonde woman were talking with shipmasters, perhaps already planning to leave the city.

The master of the _Golden Oar_ out of Lannisport had a letter for Jaime. “Hmm,” he said as he read through it, “Tyrion’s up to something.”

“Why do you say that?” Brienne asked, bored and hungry. They’d heard so many different rumors about the Dragon Queen that she’d given up trying to find the grains of truth from the surely exaggerated tales and pure fictions.

“Oysters, clams, and cockles,” a girl sang out, pushing a wheelbarrow full of fresh-looking shellfish. Brienne gratefully called her over.

“He’s breaking the siege at Riverrun and sending the Lannister army north. To reinforce the Freys, he says. Since when do the Freys need more men?”

“Perhaps they feared attack from the Boltons. They don’t trust their traitorous friends to stay bought.”

“Not likely; the Boltons can’t threaten the Freys without marching through a lot of hostile territory.”

“Vinegar?” the girl asked, fingering the bottle that contained the special mixture. The Many-Faced God may be angered by this presumption, but Cersei Lannister would be devastated.

Brienne nodded at the girl then turned to Jaime. “Well, don’t discount Sansa’s influence. I imagine she asked Tyrion to pull back from the Tully lands. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Lannister army is really going north to ‘request’ Edmure’s release.” Brienne overpaid the girl egregiously because she looked like she didn’t get enough to eat.

“She forgot the vinegar,” Jaime noted as he sampled Brienne’s snack. The girl had already melted away into the crowd, however. “Do you really think Sansa could convince Tyrion of such drastic action by asking nicely?”

“Jaime, I love Tyrion, but you must admit he has some very exploitable flaws. I think Sansa spent enough time with Littlefinger to learn exactly how to ask. The real question is how will Cersei take it?”

“Poorly enough, I imagine. Though we weren’t rousting the Blackfish within a year by anything short of an all out assault that would cost us a thousand men or more.”

“Can you handle booking passage, Jaime? I’ll pack up the room in case you find a ship leaving tonight.” Jaime agreed, knowing that she really wanted to go back to the inn and eat something familiar. She’d not enjoyed most of the spicy local food he’d insisted on sampling.

 

“You there, Big Woman! Come over here.” This wasn’t the first time Brienne has been summoned in that manner. She usually ignored it, on the grounds that a well-intended conversation rarely started that way. Here, the common tongue was rare enough that she could give the benefit of doubt to the speaker, especially since she had a gentle face.

The woman beckoned her to enter a small carpentry shop at the junction of two canals. Inside was the wonderful smell of freshly cut wood and varnish. There were pieces artfully arranged in the front and a curtained area in the back where the works in progress were presumably kept. Sample prices posted gave Brienne a moment of shock until she remembered that wood had to be brought into Braavos by barge. The items here were showpieces to boast of wealth and thus artfully embellished to the point that their practically was compromised.

Two young voices came from the back. Boys, they sounded like, one criticizing the other’s painting skills. A girl sat behind the counter, using a small awl to carve letters into a nameplate. Brienne wouldn’t have recognized her but for the greyscale. The woman who’d spoken to Brienne from the window stepped forward.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady-” Brienne began.

“Oh, we don’t do the Lords and Ladies dance here. I’m just Marya the carpenter. My two sons and apprentices are in the back. My daughter,” she nodded toward Shireen, “is doing well. She’s the one who spotted you, out by the boats the other day. She spends too much time there, listening for word of Davos. I don’t suppose you know anything?”

“Nothing of him directly, m-Marya, but I’m happy to tell you all I can.”

“I’d appreciate it. I will make us some tea if you have a moment.”

Brienne spoke with Shireen until Marya called for her to come upstairs. Shireen seemed less shy than before – Brienne could imagine Davos as a more approving father than Stannis had been. Brienne cautioned her that spending too much time at the docks could turn her into a thief. _And you know what your father does to thieves_ , Brienne almost said, but stopped herself. As much as it seemed Shireen had found a place in the Seaworth family, she probably wouldn’t welcome reminders of the father she’d likely never see again.

The upstairs featured a cozy living area, furnished with much more practical items than those in her shop. They sat to chat over a plate of sweets that gave Brienne a rush of nostalgia. Simple scones and jam; why couldn’t she find such treats anywhere in Braavos?

“I’m glad Davos found a way to bring you and the boys here. Winter is coming in Westeros and the wars have not left the land untouched. There is hunger in the countryside and bandits are preying on travelers. It seems like you’re doing very well for yourself here.”

“Yes, he sent one of his old friends to transport us from Cape Wrath to join him and Shireen. I hope I don’t come to regret calling to you. I’m trusting you with our lives by even speaking to you, do you realize?”

“I don’t see that anyone would need to know you’re here. Or especially that she’s here.”

“Promise me. You won’t even tell the man you travel with. Swear it.”

Brienne knew protesting was pointless. She would she have scoffed about trusting the Kingslayer until they came to understand each other. “I swear it,” she promised Marya.

“I have three sons living. Two are with me here, but the oldest, Devan, serves with Stannis. Are they still at Castle Black? What have you heard of the North?”

“I will tell you all I know, but where is Davos? Will he be joining us, or is he… He’s returning to him, isn’t he?” Brienne said, finally putting it together.

“Aye. He swore an oath. That’s all he would say.”

Brienne admitted that sounded like Davos. She passed along all the brothers of the Watch had told her of the situation at Castle Black.

“I’m no great strategist, but I figure if Stannis and the new Lord Commander aren’t seeing eye to eye, then Stannis has more reason to move his army south than to stay. He will need to stake a foothold in the North, preferably at Winterfell, before winter fully arrives. It will all depend on how much influence Melisandre is wielding over him. For her, the only war that matters involves the Wall.”

“Oh my, how Davos used to rant about that woman! ‘She’s poisoning Stannis’ mind! He’ll never be himself again ‘til we’re free of her.’ Don’t think I’ve ever seen him take a fight so personal.”

“I saw her in King’s Landing recently. She had a lot to say about fate and how some events are in motion that could upend the balance of the whole world. I’m loathe to trust her, but she does have some kind of power beyond the natural realm.”

Marya Seaworth was having none of it. “Answer me this: do you truly believe that or did she just tell you something you wanted to hear?”

Brienne looked at her feet in confirmation that she had. Never mind affirming that she’d kill Stannis, Melisandre had said that Cersei’s fate wasn’t set. “She did offer me peace of mind about something,” Brienne admitted.

“You can believe her if you like, but remember, she’s playing her own game. I doubt she’s even wholly loyal to Stannis. Her god will always come first. She would dance every ally she had into a bonfire to please him.”

Brienne clasped Marya's hand. No wonder Davos mistrusted Melisandre so much; she was as opposite to his stolid, plain-spoken wife as night was to day. “I will find a way to pass along anything I hear of Davos or Devan. I pray that somehow we end up on the same side of this battlefield.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Marya replied. “Davos said you saved him once. You'll always be able to trust him to try to return the favor. Not her. Don't forget.”

 


	26. Pentos

Almost nothing of the city of Pentos was visible from the bay. Surrounded by high, massive walls, only a few of its towers breached the top of the gates. The buildings inside were mainly low and plain with roofs of baked clay tile. Square brick towers marking the businesses of major trading families occasionally jutted above the common buildings. The largest structure in sight proclaimed its dedication to R’hllor by constantly keeping a bonfire burning at the apex of its tower.

“Pentos was much grander a couple of centuries ago, or so they say,” Jaime remarked. “They never seem to finish rebuilding from their last war with the Braavosi before starting a new one. Pentos lost the latest rather badly. They had to agree to abolish slavery, limit themselves to twenty warships, and not hire mercenary companies. So, they build for defense now and stockpile bribes for any Dothraki khallasars that ride by.”

“It’s good to hear we’ll avoid coming face to face with slavery for a while longer,” Brienne muttered.

“Mmm, not entirely. Remember what I said about the Pentosi not being able to resist poking at the Braavosi? It’s been over a half century since the last war. They’re finding ways around the restrictions. Ships with flags for other cities trade freely in the harbor, with slaves on board. There are ‘free bond’ servants employed at wages that, once you deduct fees for food, clothing, and shelter, leave them more indebted to their employers by the month. If they’re indebted, they can’t leave, so they’re as good as slaves, really.”

“Awful. Though I can’t imagine why I’m still surprised. I’ve not found much to recommend this continent so far.” Brienne was in a bit of a mood and somewhat ashamed of herself. An island girl shouldn’t practically be kissing the ground after such a short stint at sea. She’d grown too used to ship travel being comfortable. The small trading vessel with its burlap hammocks and hard tack rations had proved a rough reeducation. At least she hadn’t gotten greensick. Jaime never would have let her live that down, and probably would have dispatched a message straight to her father about it.

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” Jaime said, wondering if her pride was bruised. He supposed that he shouldn’t have laughed so hard when the mealworms crawled out of her bread last night. She looked like she was going to throw up, though! After all the times she complained about cleaning up after him on Oberyn’s ship… _She never once complained_ , Jaime realized. _Not once. You’re thinking of how you would have reacted in her place. If only my brain could ever rein in my tongue._ He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. They could both enjoy that, and it always broke her out of an ill humor.

Brienne relaxed into Jaime’s embrace. Allowing themselves the comfort of touch was a most agreeable part of courtship. She’d give Pentos this much: no one looked at them twice here. There were so many strange-looking people scurrying around doing weird things and wearing every imaginable kind of clothing that two tall warriors hugging in a courtyard could hardly be less remarkable. If she breathed deeply, she could smell him, musky and masculine…and that probably meant he could smell her, too. Not as enticing, she feared.

“Do we have recommendations for a good inn? I could dearly use a bath and a square meal.”

Jaime grinned, happy to have a nice surprise for her. “We’ll not need a inn this time. My family has old friends settled within the city. They’ve agreed to host us for as long as we’d like. Prepare for some outrageous pampering as they try to make a favorable impression.”

 _The softer you allow yourself to grow now, the worse it will be when you head to the North during winter_ , Brienne chided herself. “I can’t wait,” she told Jaime, and told herself to shut up and enjoy it while it lasted.

 

The size of the manse was staggering, even considering that these people were associated with the Lannisters. The house itself, along with its assorted outbuildings, easily occupied the area of an average village in Westeros. An apple orchard, flower gardens, and bee hives were also included within the estate’s walls. The walls themselves – high, solid brick, topped with bronze spikes – must have cost a fortune. Pentosi do take defense seriously.

The Lannister family friends met them at the gate with effusive greetings and guest gifts. The couple were older – in their fiftieth years at least – but seemed to be in perfect health. They introduced themselves as Aron and Julia, with no surname. “We have relatives in Lannisport who go by Spicer, but here we prefer to avoid all that. Half the important people in the city are spice merchants anyway, so such practices would hardly be helpful.”

As the couple teased each other back and forth about specific spice names the leading families could adopt, Jaime found himself envying them their freedom. Since childhood he’d been taught to fear being the weak link in the chain, the one who would allow House Lannister to fall. These merchants had no noble titles, but their mansion was huge and their lifestyle easy. They seemed to have gained a greater prize by not playing the game. _That is the cost of power_ , Jaime thought. _They have all the money they could ever want, and that’s enough for them. For Father, and most Lords, the power to control men’s lives and shape world events is the sweeter treasure._

Brienne and Jaime thanked their hosts and opened their gift packages. Inside each was a lion intricately carved in ivory, a box of sweets that looked suspiciously like large insects rolled in honey and spice, and a set of fine clothing. Jaime watched Brienne’s surprised relief as she unrolled a loose tunic and pair of pants. Cersei must have thought to mention her tastes when she wrote ahead to arrange the visit. From what he’d seen, her preferences were barely even peculiar in Essos. Besides, no matter how she dressed, no one but the dimmest of idiots would mistake her for a man. _(It had been dark in that dungeon, okay?)_

 

Brienne’s guest room had huge windows that let in the fresh sea air. Also, a generous wardrobe of loaned clothes, a carpet woven from a soft yet study fabric featuring a portrait of a masked queen from Asshai, and a massive bed that proved so comfortable in a test sitting that she nearly napped then and there. The only feature it lacked was Jaime, and Brienne didn’t feel quite wanton enough to complain about that. His own room was nearby and somehow probably grander.

The mansion swarmed with far more servants than Brienne had ever seen in a single household, their free bond status clearly denoted by the collar each servant wore around their neck. Brienne was less than comfortable asking them to serve her, but she desperately craved a bath. She found a sturdy looking woman and asked her to bring a tub to her room. Instead, the woman called over a younger girl and told her to show Lady Tarth to the bath.

 _Right, because that’s how they do it here_ , Brienne realized miserably. Doran had told her the Watergardens were based on designs from the baths of Essos. In truth, the bath here was only a bit smaller than the central pool there. Far too large for one person. She’d hoped to relax, but now she’d have to rush. She’d hate to have anyone else join her. _Almost anyone else, but he’s too principled lately._ Sometimes she peevishly wondered what had made Jaime decide to claw his way back to righteousness, and why she had to pay for it.

The warm, humid room featured colorful tiles lining the floors and walls. Brienne would love to examine the designs, but she didn’t have time. She tried to shoo the servant girl away, saying that she could handle the rest.

“As you say, m’lady. Would you like me to make sure you’re undisturbed?”

“That’s – you can do that?”

The girl smiled. “Of course, m’lady. You’re guests here. Make any request you like. If it’s within the master’s power, you’ll be refused nothing.”

That left a queasy feeling in Brienne’s stomach. Skirting the rules on slavery, indeed.

 

Jaime left his ridiculously opulent guest suite behind and went in search of the master of the manor. He’d do Brienne the favor of getting the political discussions out of the way while she refreshed herself. She always looked like she wanted to cut her own ears off after listening to more than ten minutes of House maneuverings, and their hosts seemed like talkers.

Indeed, Lord Aron happily regaled Jaime with gossip about the families living near Lannisport. Some of the information he had was astonishingly current and well-considered. If he’d shown any inclination to immigrate to Westeros, he could have given Qyburn a run for his money as a spymaster. Still, Jaime could tell these were all trivialities. He saved his true concerns for a stroll through the orchards.

“I hear the roads are safer near the capital with the faith militant patrolling the highways. Isn’t the queen worried about the crown appearing weak, unable to protect its own people?”

“If we weren’t at war, perhaps. Under the circumstances, I’d think that the people would appreciate the crown taking whatever measures necessary to keep them safe. After the war is done, we will need everyone working together to reunite the kingdoms.”

“Well said. So tell me true Ser Jaime, how serious are the tensions between Ser Kevan and Lord Tyrion? When House Lannister trembles, its vassals quake. My relations need to prepare themselves if a rift is coming.”

Jaime had started when the question wasn’t about Kevan and Cersei. _Kevan and Tyrion; what had gone wrong there?_ “My Lord, I’m afraid I had not heard of any disagreements between those two.”

“Our friends say that Ser Kevan has called on his most loyal comrades and taken to the field. He's chasing the Imp, pardon, I mean Lord Tyrion, north to assume control of the Lannister army. This is recent news, and I understand you’ve been traveling for a while. I only wondered how long the ill feelings had been brewing between them. Is this a spat that could be settled over some ale at a tavern or will one of them need to be entombed before there is peace?”

Jaime worked through it in his mind, noting that the Spicers seemed inclined toward Kevan's side. Kevan thinks Tyrion is acting irresponsibly in breaking the siege at Riverrun (because he is; deserting the Riverlands for the Twins is terrible, tactically speaking). Kevan must suspect that Tyrion doesn’t have the crown’s approval and perhaps hopes to get back into Cersei’s good graces by bringing him to heel. Which would mean this is a spat. On the other hand, if Tyrion really does antagonize the Freys and loses the crown a key ally, well that would be treason. _Godsdamn it, Tyrion!_ The practicalities of travel were such that Jaime couldn’t help his brother in any way but by choosing his words carefully here.

“I don’t believe there is a serious dispute. Kevan and Tyrion have always been close, and Kevan never aspired to be the Lord of Casterly. If Tyrion’s gambit at the Twins is successful, then Kevan will surely see its value and join forces. If not, well, Kevan will be there to show our allies that the crown supports them.”

“Good. That is good to hear, my lord.” Aron seemed genuinely satisfied to Jaime’s eyes. He hoped he had seen the situation clearly.   _Don't be the weak link._ For a rare moment, he wished he could speak with his father.

 

Two nights of feasting at the merchant’s manor proved enough to leave Brienne and Jaime feeling restless about their mission. During the days, they had spoken with travelers about the conflict in Slaver’s Bay but the rumors were much and more of the same as they heard in Braavos. Jaime suggested they try to find a different crowd at night. Brienne cheerfully agreed, though once they stepped outside the manse’s walls, she wondered if that had been a mistake.

Once, while quite inebriated, Cersei had told Jaime about the day Myrcella left King’s Landing for Dorne. The memory left her shaken to the present day. She had been so focused on maintaining her poise that she hadn’t noticed how ugly the crowd had grown until the riot began. The nobility hastily retreated to the Red Keep, and not all of them had made it. Jaime felt a kindred energy tonight in the streets of Pentos. A massive undercurrent of emotion brewed and could easily burn out of control.

Neither Jaime nor Brienne spoke any dialect of Valyrian well. Still, they kept hearing the name Daenerys, as well as R’hllor. A good guess at the most commonly chanted phrase would be ‘The night is dark and full of terrors.’

“Perhaps it’s a holiday?” Brienne suggested.

“Let’s head toward the temple and see what we can learn. They’re definitely saying something about the Dragon Queen.”

The courtyard of the Red Temple overflowed with people. Some dressed in silks as Brienne and Jaime, others in cheaper linen, though everyone appeared to be in their best. The wealthy did not press for right of position but patiently swayed with the press of the crowd. Several priests spoke at once and there were, of course, fires burning all around. The atmosphere was chaotic but not dangerous to Jaime’s mind.

After ten minutes or so, a red priestess rang a gong and the crowd quieted. She gave a long speech of which Brienne and Jaime understood perhaps one word in ten. “Night…terror…fire,” all the usual. Nothing of Daenerys this time. She led the audience in some call and response, but since the response was always “The night is dark and full of terrors,” even the Westerosi could repeat it by the end.

The crowd then formed itself into ranks, with a fire pit at the head. People jumped over the fire and were met by one of the priests on the opposite side. As Brienne and Jaime inched forward, they could see that the jump wasn’t as impressive as it looked from a distance. The flames were not much above the lip of the pit, and it wasn’t very wide. Like so much of R’hllor worship, it was full of drama but held no true threat. When their turn came, they clasped hands and wordlessly agreed to make a competition of who could jump the furthest. Brienne’s long legs carried the day, but Jaime gave himself more points for grace considering that she almost bowled into the priest when she landed.

The priest tied a bracelet made of woven red cloth to Brienne’s right wrist and another to Jaime’s left. They were connected by a single thread. He motioned for them to join hands, said a few words in Valyrian, then burned away the linking string. After this, the ceremony seemed to be concluded. No other priests beckoned to them. They watched as other braceleted people wandered away from the temple and did not seem to rejoin the chanting crowds.

“That was pointless,” Brienne complained. “We’re going to have to bring a translator the next time we go to hear a sermon.”

“I suppose we’re official converts to the Lord of the Light now,” Jaime joked, lifting his arm into her line of sight.

Brienne looked horrified and made to rip the bracelet from her wrist.

“No, leave it. I’ve seen them around a lot. People may be more willing to talk to us if we look more like we belong to their religion.”

“Fine. But if my septa somehow sees, you’re explaining it.”

“Deal,” he said, and sealed it with a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I will try for an update next week, but don't be completely shocked if the holidays get in the way. Thanks for all the comments & kudos! Much love to you all!


	27. Tyrosh

The ugliness of Tyrosh made no attempt to hide itself. Originally a Valyrian military outpost, it encompassed the majority of its island in a drab fortress-city. Though the harbor was presently open for business, it could be rapidly sealed off in case of attack. The cities of Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys — often called the quarrelsome daughters — lay in a triangle on the map. Centuries of conflict had not yet resolved ownership of the Disputed Lands located at the triangle’s center. At present, Tyrosh and Lys were allied against Myr in a bloodless standoff about trade, but everyone acknowledged that the situation could change at any moment.

Tyrosh evolved from its military roots due to the discovery of a sea snail whose secretions yielded a deep red dye. Snail cultivators managed to create different hues by varying the snails’ diets, and a new industry was born. Now, the mercantile trade was considered more worthy than that of the military. The city hires mercenary companies to do its fighting, and its people buy slaves for their manual labor. Estimates put the slaves to freemen ratio at 3:1. Jaime could hardly blame the slave owners for being nervous when they heard about revolts in Slaver’s Bay and looked at their own numbers.

He and Brienne had arrived in early afternoon. Their ship needed to take on supplies, so it scheduled a two day stop. In Westeros, resupplying a ship rarely took more than half a day, but the ways of the Free Cities were different. Here, each item must be haggled over separately, with prices having no consistency from trip to trip. It was both game and art to the Tyroshi, and they’d no more accept a fixed price list than Westerosi would agree on who would win a joust beforehand. Still, that and the generally more relaxed pace of life here, was going to add unnecessary time to their trip.

They’d gotten off to a good start information-wise in Tyrosh. Jaime let the couple who owned their inn get the better of him in the bargain for two night’s lodging. As a show of their largess, they invited him and his lady wife to a private supper. Brienne was always flattered when people assumed they were married, and it’d been happening more and more as they traveled toward Slaver’s Bay. Apparently in Essos, they didn’t look so odd together.

They talked first of the whimsical nature of Tyroshi style despite the city’s utilitarian appearance. The dye that had made the city famous was put to use everywhere. Brienne haltingly complimented their hosts’ hair. The lady’s had been dyed a bizarre shade of burgundy and sculpted atop her head in the shape of a masted sailing ship. The lord’s was no less artificial, curled into aqua green waves with a dolphin-shaped comb protruding from the center. The couple consulted amongst themselves and agreed that Brienne would look best in a soft pink. Jaime privately marked them as fools. _Blue, obviously._

After a while, they could see past their hosts’ strange stylings to the well-meaning though self-involved people they were. Their lives featured the same sorts of struggles as they could in Westeros, just with a Tyroshi twist. They worried about blockades instead of famines, and windstorms rather than floods. Of prime concern was the slave situation in the east. Brienne resolved to keep her mouth shut and let Jaime do the talking, lest she turn the convivial meal into an argument and lose them their lodgings.

“Do you know anyone who has personally been to Slaver’s Bay in the last month?” Jaime asked.

They dithered for a bit and finally came up with the name of a ship’s captain. “Now, he didn’t stay long because he had slaves in his hold and didn’t want to get taken in or lose his cargo. Still, even with barely a glimpse, he said it was a horror show. Slaves were now masters; former masters were slaves. Really, if you’re going to break a working system and end up with the same result, why bother?” The lady of the house seemed to have stronger opinions about the matter than her husband.

“So the Dragon Queen sacked the city and then left them to their own devices?”

“Oh, she tried to set up some kind of council, but who is going to listen to a bunch of old farts when their lives have been turned upside down? There was an uprising, and then a massacre, and another uprising. Horrifying.”

“It sounds like she’s either very naïve or has terrible advisers.”

“Why not both? At any rate, it’s disrupting trade all over the continent. The price of slaves keeps going up. Mercenaries can barely be had for love or money. I never thought we’d see the day where a solider out-earns a merchant. But people need protection now, even in their own households, so here we are.”

“Does she still plan to sail for Westeros, or is she staying in Meereen?”

The couple both shrugged. “Who can say? I heard Qarth offered her ships. She had but to take them and leave, yet she’s still there.”

“What of the dragons? Has anyone actually seen them?”

“Not since Astapor. Some swear they saw a dragon the size of a large dog there. Since then, the fighting has been too thick for reliable information.”

Jaime stood, bowing to his hosts. “I can only offer my prayers that the violence doesn’t reach you here.”

“Thank you, my lord. May you stay safe in your travels as well.”

After Brienne and Jaime returned to their room, Jaime tried to put a positive spin on dinner. “That went well. We learned a lot about the situation in Slaver’s Bay. You did a fantastic job at holding your tongue. I think our hosts could barely tell how much you hated them.”

“I don’t hate them. I just have trouble understanding how they can be perfectly pleasant people while at the same time supporting a system that says most of the people on the island are not, well, people.”

“That’s going to be the same for everyone we meet tomorrow.”

“I know. I’ll keep my temper,” she promised.

Jaime decided he would count it a success if she made it until lunchtime without calling someone a monster.

 

“Let’s go over the rules. Slavery is the law of the land here. Slaveowners can do whatever they want with their slaves: beat them, whip them, and worse. No matter what you see them doing to their slaves, killing a slaveowner will get you executed. I don’t like it either, but we only have to last one more day here. Our mission can’t succeed if we get executed, so let’s not, okay?”

“Okay,” Brienne replied in almost a whisper.

Jaime had hoped for an animated ‘I’ll do as I like,’ or even a sarcastic ‘I’ll try.’ Submissive and shaken was not a familiar look on Brienne. Of course, he’d been to Essos and seen slavery first hand before. She had not.

They’d been awakened early in the morning by slave ships unloading their cargo. They watched from their inn window as the slaves were led onto the docks. They were Westerosi, wildlings from the North, judging by their appearance. They’d been filthy, dressed in mixed furs, and looked absolutely bewildered about what had happened to them. A factor with blue hair shaped into spiral horns picked through their ranks, choosing about two dozen. The rest were driven back onto the ship, many yelling for family members who were left behind on the docks. Some tried to fight their way free, but they were hampered by chains and had no weapons. The slavers quickly overcame them and pulled them into the ship’s hold. The ones chosen were loaded into a wagon and carted away.

“I’ve heard they’re a proud people,” Brienne said. “They despise anyone who kneels. They’ll make terrible slaves.”

“That’s probably why they took so many. A few can be killed to set an example for the others,” Jaime replied, then wished he hadn’t. _Leave it to me to make sure she notices every ounce of vileness in the world._

Brienne had said nothing and stared at her feet. She hadn't said much since.

 

Jaime negotiated with an eel vendor for their lunch and was getting into the spirit of the game in spite of himself. (Brienne had not yet called anyone a monster, though he almost wished she would at this point. Where was his stubborn, contrary, challenging, (sexy,) bothersome, quarrelsome swordswench?)

“Mercy, please!” Brienne heard a young voice shout. She forgot every caution she’d promised to exercise and rushed toward the sound. Not only was she disturbed by the child’s yell, but he was speaking the common tongue.

Brienne saw a man with orange hair and an angry red face brandishing a whip over a boy of twelve or so years. The boy tried to protect himself from his master’s wrath, but his thin clothes were torn to ribbons and he could do no more than cover his face.

“Do not strike that boy again.” Brienne tried to banish all anger from her voice. Ser Goodwin, the master of arms on Tarth had taught her this. ‘Just give a command and expect it to be followed. Don’t threaten or cajole. There’s nothing to argue about. Use your size and be confident.’

“He’s mine to strike if I want. What business is it of yours?”

“I’m making it my business. Do not strike him again.” Brienne towered over the stooped merchant even though his russet hair spikes were teased a foot high. She pressed her advantage and pulled the whip from his hands. “What offense could a boy of such a tender age have committed to justify such harsh discipline?”

“Buy him from me for what I paid for him and you can ask him yourself. Fifty honors.”

Brienne had no way of knowing the reasonableness of the price, but she had more than fifty honors in her pouch and it seemed the best way to avoid the scene turning ugly. “Agreed,” she said.

The merchant took her money and beat a hasty retreat in case the giantess came to regret her bargain. Brienne was left officially a slaveowner. Nine words later, she was not. “I free you; I free you; I free you,” she said loudly and clearly. She cut the collar from the boy’s neck with her dagger.

“Th-thank you, my lady. B-but, what do I do now?” The boy rubbed his neck and look around, terrified. He clearly had known no previous kindness in this city.

“I suppose you must stay with us, but not as a slave. We’ll pay you for your services and try to get you back home. A boy your age should be learning a trade. What sort of work were you training to do?”

“He b-bought me b-because I spoke Valyrian and the common tongue. He th-thought I could be a translator, b-but I have this st-stutter. It makes him lose his temper. S-s-said I was a waste of m-money.”

“I’m glad to have spent it, then. Where is home for you? We may be able to get you someplace familiar if you have a bit of patience. Though again, you can leave any time you want.”

“I s-s-suppose home is Casterly Rock now.”

“WHAT?”

“Do you know it? I’m squire for Lord Tyrion. He s-s-sent me to Braavos with a message for the b-banker, but the sh-ship got captured by sl-slavers. I didn’t th-think I’d even see my lord again. He’s a Lannister; they’re rich. He’ll probably pay s-s-some kind of ransom for me.”

“JAIME!” Brienne called.

He dashed over, careful to protect their hard-won bowl of fried eels. He looked back and forth between a defiant Brienne and a hero-worshiping boy. Inside, he smiled.

“You bought a boy! Brienne, we talked about this.” They had, after Brienne learned how cheaply (to her mind; the citizens of Tyrosh would disagree) human life could be bought and sold. She’d taken stock of their funds and asked why they couldn’t buy three or four hundred slaves. ‘I know that’s only a drop in the ocean overall, but it would matter to them.’ Jaime had embraced her, loving her kind heart.

‘It’s impossible to stop slavery with coin,’ he’d told her. ‘The more are bought, the more the slavers will seek out to sell. Demand calls for supply. Every one we buy will be replaced by someone new taken from their home within a fortnight.’

She’d nodded her understanding, but he’d known she’d have difficulty looking slaves in the face, knowing she could help them, and then not doing so.

“I freed him immediately.”

“Well, of course you did. But-”

“And he’s Westerosi. In service to your brother.”

Jaime looked closer at the boy. “Is that Podrick Payne? Tyrion calls you Pod, right? You’ve grown about a foot since I saw you last.”

“Yes, th-thank you, my lord. S-Ser Jaime. Are we to return to Westeros soon?”

“Not for a while. We need to finish making our way down the coast and then see if there is any way into Slaver's Bay. It may not be safe. In Volantis, perhaps we can find you a ship for King's Landing or Lannisport.”

“B-beg pardon Ser, but I'm m-meant to be a squire. I'm not afraid.”

“Good lad. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We can see what Volantis has to offer when we get there.“

“Pardon again, my lord b-but I have another question. Are you courting Lady Br-Brienne now?”

Brienne tensed, wondering if Jaime was going to deny it, but he agreed cheerfully. “That’s right. Seems that you're quite observant. A very fine trait in a squire. I’ll bet Tyrion will be happy to have you back.”

“I hope s-s-so. I think he’ll b-be more happy to learn that the two of you are f-finally together. He always s-said you needed to stop pretending.”

 


	28. Lys

Jaime and Brienne reboarded their ship, _The Dancing Maid,_ to continue their journey down the Esson coast. Brienne’s cabin would be more crowded this time since she insisted Pod stay with her. Jaime felt satisfied that his decision to book two cabins for the voyage had turned out to be the correct one. Brienne had questioned it a few times, ostensibly on grounds of mutual protection and frugality. Even at her most clever, though, she could think of no plausible, honor-preserving excuse that would leave Pod alone while she and Jaime shared.

They gathered for the evening meal — fresh caught fish, tubers, and leaf vegetables; no more merchant vessel rations, thank the gods — to discuss what news Pod had of Westeros.

“I’ve heard reports that Tyrion and Kevan are in a dispute. Do you know the truth of that?” Jaime asked him.

Pod debated for a moment whether he should talk of House Lannister matters. He decided Lord Tyrion trusted his brother, and the situation had been dire.

“Do you know about the b-bankers?” Pod asked.

“No, they must have arrived after we left. But surely Casterly is not in debt.” Jaime could scarcely imagine it. A Lannister worrying about running out of money was like a stableboy concerned about his shit supply.

“Not exactly, Ser, b-but the mines have all given out. There’s no new g-gold coming in and there’s b-been no incomes from the lands either s-since the northern rebellion st-started. All Casterly has is debts owed to it from other Houses, as well as the cr-crown.”

Jaime blinked in surprise. Tywin had mentioned the closing of some mines years ago, when he’d been trying to convince Jaime to leave the King’s Guard and assume stewardship of Casterly. He had thought it a ploy then and hadn’t realized the situation had continued to worsen.

“Queen Cersei s-s-sent a letter to Lord Tyrion asking if Casterly could st-stand for the crown’s debt to the Iron Bank, b-but it couldn’t, because the b-bankers wouldn’t take payment in the form of other debt.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up. The Iron Bank must be exerting quite a bit of pressure for Cersei to beg Tyrion for help.

“Lord Tyrion thought about d-dissolving the army to save money, but then had the idea to take his m-men north. If he could g-get the Riverlands to produce even one more harvest before winter, well, that’d be a g-good start, and all he n-needs for that is the heir to Riverrun in his proper place.”

Jaime saw Brienne mouth ‘Sansa,’ and had to agree.

“Why take the army now rather than later?” Jaime asked.

“He didn’t expect the Fr-Freys to see it his way, especially s-since he didn’t have much to offer them. He figures the Fr-Freys have got pressure from the north, because of what they did to the St-Starks, and the Ironborn are all over their western sh-shores. The last thing they’ll want is to fight a Lannister army that’s well rested and itching for a g-good scrape.”

“And what does Kevan say?”

“He calls it treason. He says he’s g-going to ride after Lord Tyrion with his b-best knights and overtake him before he reaches the Twins. He might m-make it, but the Lannister army moves at a pretty g-good clip too. It’ll be close.” Pod’s brow furrowed, plainly worried about the fate of his lord. “That’s why once Lord Tyrion heard Kevan was coming, he s-sent me off to talk to the b-bankers. He said to tell them that he’d m-meet their representative at Riverrun, b-but I don’t see how that’s possible.”

Jaime thought he knew. Tyrion hoped that he’d be successful one way or another at the Twins. He could either win a battle and loot enough money from the Freys for a payment, or negotiate and demand it as ransom for Edmure from the Tullys. In the worst case, though, Kevan killed him and returned to Riverrun with the Lannister army, looking very much like he’d stolen the Iron Bank’s payment. The Iron Bank would then ‘have their due’ from Kevan, not the crown. _Fuck Tyrion and his over-sized brain._

 

Jaime had unquestionably the most beautiful view, as he was looking right at Brienne’s smile as the city of Lys came into sight. He could understand the appeal for her. A temperate island city, surrounded by clear blue water; it must remind her of home. If she could forget for a moment that this lovely place bought and sold people like cattle, he was happy for her.

Jaime left Brienne to find an inn and settle their arrangements while he and Pod went to the marketplace. Pod’s Valyrian proved well up to the task, leaving Jaime pleased that they would no longer be locked out of so many conversations. He found that Brienne had taken the two best rooms at a clean and cozy inn with a view of the ocean. As on the ship, she intended to share with Pod, leaving Jaime alone. He had to remind himself not to be jealous of a twelve year old boy.

_Besides, you know she’d redo the arrangements if you asked. She’s been very willing for a while now. And when that woman calls you stubborn, that needs to give you pause._ Truth be told, he’d found traveling through Essos with Brienne to be perhaps the most stimulating time of his life. After they had their courtly encounters, they would kiss and touch in private, sometimes for quite a while. There had been a few close calls for her chastity, without question. He hated to think about the future, when surely she’d marry someone for the good of her house, or just grow too frustrated with him and leave.

As in Tyrosh, their ship docked for a full day to resupply. Lysene society was quite a bit different, however, with slaves used mainly for skilled labor and afforded greater independence. Jaime figured that he and Brienne would learn more if one of them spent the day with the masters and one among the slaves.

“So, do you want the tunic or the tokar?” Jaime asked. He held up the thin, linen slave tunic, then the grand brocaded tokar. She would look majestic in the tokar, he thought, like that statue of a war goddess they’d seen in the fountains of Braavos. _True, it would be a pain in the ass to walk while managing to keep the layers of material properly wound, but that would be her prob-_

“The slave tunic, I suppose. I don’t think I could stand spending an entire day around slave owners.”

Ah. He hadn’t thought of that. “Very well. If Pod wants, he can come hobnob with society alongside me as my cupbearer,” Jaime said. Bringing a slave along would enhance his chances of being taken seriously. Especially if Pod could keep the damn tokar from sliding off his shoulder.

“Pod likes me better,” Brienne teased, as if she didn’t know it was true. Pod had imprinted on her like a duckling. Jaime strongly doubted that Tyrion was getting him back. She picked up the tunic with a disapproving glare.

“I honestly thought you’d choose to be the master. If I’d known it’d be you in the tunic, I’d have gotten a shorter one.”

Brienne shook her head at Jaime’s nonsense. This tunic wouldn’t even cover her knees. How much more freckled flesh could he stand to see in broad daylight?

“Don’t forget this.” He tossed her a leather collar with ‘Lann’ stitched in golden thread.

“You had it personalized?”

“Everyone does. I changed it a bit though, like Lann the Clever.”

“Well done,” she said, buckling it around her neck. She thought Lann the Clever’s attributes may have skipped a few generations.

 

Brienne had assumed she’d fit in better among the slaves. After all, she’d never considered herself a lady in Westeros. How could she pretend to be one here? Slaves in Lys were…different, however. At first she thought it was a coincidence – maybe they were near the equivalent of the Street of Silk – but no, block after block it was the same. Every single slave was gorgeous. Each one looked like a walking statue of a god. Toned muscles, classically beautiful features, flawless unmarked skin. Without their tunics and slave collars, they could have walked into any house in Westeros claiming to be displaced nobility and be believed every time.

Some of the masters were hideous, Brienne noticed. She tried not to presume that was why Jaime had planned for her to take that role. She sighed; he would have seamlessly blended in with the other slaves here. She hurried toward the town square, trying to find some way not to draw attention to her appearance.

“Beg pardon,” said an achingly beautiful young slave woman. Her sparkling, violet eyes locked onto Brienne’s as she dropped into a perfect curtsy. Brienne had barely felt the bump, but the slave’s politeness and gentle smile made her forget her ugliness for a time.

“It’s no trouble. Seven blessings,” she replied automatically.

“The common tongue! My mistress wants me to learn to help with work. Will you practice with me?”

“Sure. Um, what do you do?”

“I work at Lucinda’s Pretty Flowers, the brothel near the fountain of the elephant. We specialize in..ah, how does it go, ‘cultivating a pastoral atmosphere for our clients.’ Do you know it?”

“No, sorry, though that sounds lovely. This is my first time visiting Lys. I am Brienne. What is your name?” She had to ask, or she was going to start calling her Violet. Her eyes really were astonishing. Brienne suspected she was very good at her job.

“My real name is Mari, but my clients call me Daenerys,” she said.

Brienne gaped that such a rare looking woman could have as common a name as Mari. “Daenerys like the Dragon Queen?”

Mari pouted. “I had it first. It was in honor of the original Daenerys, not the child who is ruining the continent. I’m going to have to change it, though. Some of the gentlemen are getting rough.”

“You don’t think she’s trying to help slaves?” Brienne lowered her voice, incredulous at what she was hearing.

“Helping us to early graves, sure. To beatings and,” she flailed, having run past her common tongue vocabulary. “She ruins cities. Thousands of slaves die. She leaves. Thousands more die. Not field slaves, good slaves like us. Prostitutes, fighters, tutors, and singers. We need masters, someone to bring us clients. Everyone can’t be free. That is,” she finished with the Valyrian word for chaos, which also means fire.

 

“Your boy, is he for sale?”

“No, I just got him. He’s not even properly trained yet.” Pod had been instructed to keep his mouth shut no matter what. His orders were to stand back, pour wine, and remember all that he heard. His Valyrian had proved to be far better than Jaime’s (and Brienne’s, and the two of them put together, in fact).

“I see. How about a quick rental arrangement?”

Jaime felt his balls try to retreat into his body. Pod did a better job of showing no reaction. Perhaps he was too young to understand. The elder seemed perfectly normal, too, a respectable landed citizen. In fact, from the look of the old coot, one wouldn’t think he and an erection had been in the same room for decades. Brienne – ha – yes, it was better that she was not here.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible today, my lord. Next week, perhaps, after he’s had some experience.” They’d be gone tomorrow, never to return if Jaime had his way.

The gentleman appeared offended, but not enough to have Jaime thrown out of the gathering. The city’s most powerful families met weekly to discuss business, politics, and local news over gourmet food and lots of wine. Wrangling an invitation for the heir to a great Westerosi house rich with gold mines hadn’t been difficult. Brienne would have hated it. As a Westerosi, Jaime was a curiosity for them. He had to answer what felt like thousands of inane questions and act impressed when they bragged about their complement of slaves.

The conversation drifted around but always came back to one of two topics: slave scarcity due to lack of supply and the growing threat of slave revolts. The Dothraki weren’t bringing in as many slaves as before, though they were still the continent’s biggest supplier. Independent pirates helped some, but with winter encroaching on Westeros, only the Tyroshi were sailing west in search of new supply. On top of that, the more slaves a household supported, the more insecure they felt. Some were hiring guards or chaining slaves in their quarters at night for fear of being murdered in their sleep.

Jaime maintained a sympathetic expression for so long he thought his face was going to crack. No one had first or second hand knowledge of the Dragon Queen or her dragons. Some claimed she had a Dothraki army with her, others that she’d hired sellswords. Pessimists said it must be both. Additionally, no one had any confidence in the predictions of what her next move would be. “She spreads chaos is all I know,” one of the guildmasters said. “How do you get ahead of that?”

 

A very large man had been watching her for far too long. Brienne may be innocent, but she wasn’t a fool. Ever since she left for Renly’s camp, she’d taken steps to protect herself from drawing the attention of men like that. Unfortunately, disguised as a slave, her best deterrents were unavailable. She was not allowed to carry weapons, and the thin tunic did not enable her to hide much of her body. Even a stern, forbidding expression was more likely to draw attention as insolence than actually cause someone to rethink bothering her. Any slave was inferior to any free person. Therefore a slave, no matter how strong, was ultimately forced to bow to the demands of not only their master, but anyone who didn’t fear their master’s retribution. And House Lann had no reputation here.

The man approached her, making obvious how he took in every inch of her form.

“Look at you. What a piece of work. Can’t believe I haven’t seen you before.” He seized her upper arm and squeezed the muscle. “Real deal. Solid as a rock. Do you live here?”

“No, I’m traveling with my master!” She hadn’t meant to yell. In fact, she’d tried to sound low and uninterested, but had squealed when he grabbed her thigh. He kneaded it, in the same evaluating way as her arm before.

“What’s your weapon?” he asked, standing to take note of her collar.

“Sword or morningstar.”

“Morningstar. Nice. Brutal, yeah. I can see that. Lets you use your strength. I’ve never heard of House Lann, though. They’re not real players around here.”

He drew out a parchment and rapidly wrote a few lines of text. He underlined a large number.

“This is a firm offer. Give it to your master. House Scysa, we know what to do with talent like yours.” He looked her over again, and stepped in conspiratorially close. “Listen, a fresh fish like you in a hungry town like this, you’ll probably get more offers. You may want to lose them. Our guild is run by former pit fighting slaves, including me. If you make enough money, you can buy your way free. See, no collar.”

He stretched out his neck for Brienne’s inspection. Though it was conspicuously bare, she thought she could see a permanent tan line where a collar had long been fastened.

“I got some scars, but none from whips. We’ll give you good food. Weapons of castle-forged steel. We know how to treat fighters. Now that offer is for you, but we’ll buy your husband too, at fair market price.” He gave Brienne a quick nod as she started in confusion. “Or wife. Whatever. Kids too if you’ve got any. And they don’t have to do a damn thing, just keep you happy. As we say, a happy fighter is a winning fighter.”

 

Brienne curtsied to her supposed master and the cupbearer. She was still horrible at it, Jaime noted with a grin. He put his right arm over her shoulder (his left being needed to hold up his damn tokar). Perhaps it looked odd, but if people were allowed to beat their slaves, surely they could cuddle them. They walked back to the inn, limited by Jaime’s slow, mincing steps.

“I think you chose wisely,” he said once they’d arrived. “The masters are scared, but they’ve just retreated into hedonism and ignorance. How was your day?”

“Fine. Weird. The slaves here seem like they’re more afraid of the unknown than desirous of their freedom. I don’t understand. Their lives aren’t easy. The fighters still die and the prostitutes still…do their work. Artists have to be perfect, and if a tutor’s students don’t achieve their goals, the tutor is beaten.”

“The slaves are just comfortable enough, I suppose, that they don’t want to take any risks. Sure, freedom might be better, but it would definitely be harder,” Jaime said.

“Places like Lys will hold onto slavery longer than anywhere else, I’d wager. They may call it something else, like in Pentos, but they’ll be here with a market waiting to be fed.” She sighed, then remembered something with a rueful smile. “Oh, speaking of that, I was told to give these to my master.” She handed over the purchase offers she had received throughout the day.

“You got seven offers just from walking around? Nice work. Funny, I only heard about three major gladiatorial houses.”

“There were a couple from out of town buyers,” she said. “And two brothels,” she added in a mumble.

Jaime laughed. He couldn’t help it; she was so adorably embarrassed.

“I’m as surprised as you,” Brienne laughed along. It was a relief to mock these people, even if it was at her own expense. “They kept saying they cater to all tastes. Can you imagine — me, in a gauzy robe with no smallclothes?”

“I can imagine that,” Jaime said. Brienne was amazed at how he kept a straight face.

“I could sooner imagine you,” she teased back, leaving the room to change into her regular clothes.

“I swear to the gods, I will buy us a matching pair if you’ll wear yours, too,” Jaime shouted at her retreating form.

Curiosity drove him to read the offers. He wondered if she’d be ashamed or flattered to know that one of the brothels was the high bidder.

 


	29. Volantis I - At Last

Volantis, at last, the final scheduled port for the _Dancing Maid_ , the closest of the Free Cities to Slaver’s Bay. As the First Daughter of Valyria, Volantis had always been the richest and most powerful, dominating its sister cities through both money and military might. The population of even its outer cities, like Valysar and Selhorys, exceeded that of King’s Landing. Volantis’ own numbers were difficult to estimate, though there were about five slaves to each free person.

Social rank was critical in Volantis, Jaime emphasized, and almost entirely dependent on accident of birth. Slaves were forever denoted as lesser by facial tattoos, so that even if freed, their former status would be known. On the other end of the spectrum, the Old Blood, those families who could trace an unbroken line of descent back to Valyria, lived behind the oval of the Black Walls. Freedmen, slaves, or foreigners needed an express invitation from one of the Old Blood to enter the city-within-a-city.

Brienne, Jaime, and Pod disembarked into a bustling port area that left them agog. Brienne was well-accustomed to King’s Landing and Jaime and Pod had been practically raised there, but it did not compare to the scope of this city. King’s Landing had a few massive structures like the Red Keep and the Sept of Baelor, but by and large was comprised of one- and two-story shops and houses. Here, every street was lined with massive buildings pushing at least four stories into the sky. They were ancient, too; nothing appeared to have been constructed this century. Stalls crowded the sidewalks as well, with statues (often headless) decorating every square.

“Jaime, is that an elephant?” Brienne asked. She indicated a strange creature about the size of a horse, but with massive, thick legs and a long, flexible snout.

“A dwarf one, I think,” he replied. There had been a regular grey elephant at the menagerie at Lannisport, but it had died some twenty years ago, at least.

“Hello, my strong friends,” the elephant’s driver said as they approached to get a better look. A brightly-painted cart with a cushioned bench was yoked to the animal’s back. “You do not wish to walk in the streets like dogs. Come, Aego will take you wherever you like.” He spoke the common tongue with fluid confidence, having expertly appraised them as Westerosi. His cheek displayed a tattoo of a wheel, delineating his slave rank and duties.

One glance at Brienne and Pod showed they plainly wanted to ride in the elephant cart. Jaime climbed aboard and reached a hand down to help them up. “The finest inn in the city, please,” he said. It had to be better than walking. The heat of the city already felt oppressive even though, in King’s Landing, they’d likely not be through breakfast yet.

During the trip, Brienne watched the animal in such obvious fascination that even the driver noticed. She laughed as it swatted flies out of the air with its tail.

“Would you like to give her a treat?” he asked Brienne once they’d arrived at their destination. He held out an entire carrot for her to take. She offered it to the elephant and gasped as the animal primly plucked it from her hand using the tip of its muscular snout. The elephant popped the carrot into its mouth and munched contentedly.

“Sit on her back, maybe?”

“Am I not too big?” Brienne asked self-consciously.

“Is funny. Can you not ride horse? Elephant is stronger with better legs.”

He gave Brienne a boost up, and she sat for several minutes stroking the elephant’s rough, hairy back. It trumpeted as if to say goodbye when she hopped down to allow Pod a turn.

“Clara is inside; tell her Aego sent you. Will get you better rate,” the driver said. They had an arrangement where he brought her customers who wanted a nice inn and she kicked back some of the fee to him.

“Certainly,” Jaime said. He settled up with the driver and helped Pod down from the elephant. Brienne looked so happy he could barely feel any ill-will toward the driver for his obvious flirting. Barely.

Aego had used a finely tuned calculus to modify how he interacted with the lord’s lady. Too much insolence would get him whipped, but subtle attentions that blended toward flirtation would leave the lord wanting to impress her. It worked perfectly this time, with a two honor tip for a half-mile ride. A few more fools in love like that, and Aego could buy his freedom. 

 

The common room of the Merchant’s House could have swallowed the throne room and grand ball room of the Red Keep. However, instead of wide, open spaces to give a sense of grandeur, it was crammed with nigh-countless alcoves where business could be conducted privately. Jaime approved; this would be a wonderful place to look for passage to Meereen without having anyone else get wind of their business.

Jaime asked at the bar for Clara and requested two rooms, one for him; one for Brienne and the boy.

“I have many rooms large enough for three,” she said.

“I’m sure, but the lady and I are not wed, so she would prefer a room of her own.” Brienne shot him an amused glance, as he surely knew that wasn’t her true opinion on the matter. Finally arriving in Volantis after such a long journey had put her in high spirits, though, and she didn’t want to argue.

“Oh, my mistake. You’re not married to each other, you mean?”

“Right,” he said, wondering if he should ask for Pod’s assistance. Perhaps it was a translation problem.

“No worries. Two rooms, fourth floor. I’ll show you the way,” Clara said. She led them to large, clean rooms on the inn’s top floor. That far from the common room, they should be able to get a sound sleep. Brienne hesitated for a moment at the threshold to Jaime’s room. She took a breath to gather herself and stepped inside.

“I think this is an excellent place to start looking for ships to Meereen,” Jaime said once they were alone. “I don’t expect it to be easy, though. We may need someone influential to speak on our behalf. Pod, if you’ll come with me, I’d like to try asking around for a few contacts my family has in the city. If we can get an invitation to the Old City, we may find doors suddenly start opening for us.”

“Okay. I can see what sort of responses we get from asking around here,” Brienne said. She looked distracted, Jaime noticed.

“You all right?”

“I was just…wondering. What happens when the slave revolts reach here? They’re worried to death all down the coast, and there are far more people and far more slaves here. The streets are going to run red.”

“It will be a great and terrible day. Volantis has weathered more than a few of those in its past. There’s not much anyone can do but work for the best outcome and remain vigilant. It’s like those elephants; you try to keep them under control, but if one breaks loose, you probably can’t stop it, so try to keep out of its way.”

They would spend a week asking after passage to Meereen or an invitation to the Old City, both fruitlessly. However, Jaime did discover something very interesting in the meantime.

 

_Oh please not again._ Brienne loved kissing Jaime. She enjoyed his lips on hers, locking on and pushing for a deeper connection; the tingly, light-headed sensation; his touches that were so confident and sure. She even loved the feeling of his flesh, rough but yielding. She wanted more than anything to get lost in the moment. Always, however, at some point, he’d make them stop. She’d have to try to find a way to sleep with her tender places aching and her small clothes uncomfortably damp. As if on cue, his lips pulled away from hers. “No,” she moaned.

His lips returned to kiss her neck. He ran his tongue from her neck to her ear, and she shuddered. Brienne allowed herself to recline further onto the bed. He followed, shifting to more fully envelop her, nibbling at her ear. She could feel his hardness in his pants.

“Please,” she heard herself beg. “Please, more.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

That brought her attention back from her body clamoring for caresses. He’d never asked that before.

“Yes, yes yes yes yes.” By the first yes, he’d already started to pull off her sleeping shift.

“Absolutely sure?” He undressed himself methodically, giving her plenty of time to reconsider. He wasn’t hesitating for himself, though. His cock looked quite sure, once it was out of his pants. “No undoing this.”

“Completely!” Brienne wiggled out of her smallclothes. They were soaked, and she was throbbing down there. Even if septa Roelle told the truth about what happened next, it’d have to be better than the squirmy, uncomfortable frustration she’d had to deal with lately.

“I love you. You know that, right? This is love, not lust or loneliness. This is happening out of love.”

“I believe you.” Brienne was sure in that moment she did. “I love you too. You know I couldn’t lie about that.” She chuckled ruefully to ease her nerves.

At last, they were both fully naked before each other. He ran his hands down her body, as if to commit every inch to memory. She couldn’t watch him look at her. She closed her eyes before the awe she thought she saw turned to disappointment. Still, his member stayed hard and he gradually maneuvered himself to where he needed to be.

Jaime rolled his hips and slid into her slowly and carefully. She thought it left more of a stretching, burning sensation behind than the ripping, tearing pain she’d been told to expect. Septa Roelle also failed to mention the pleasure that came right alongside. It felt better the longer he was there. Brienne opened her eyes to show she was ready for more.

Jaime looked stricken. He let out a sort of pained grunt. Reversing the typical roles, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Just trying not to disgrace myself. You feel unbelievable.” He’d been reciting the litany of King’s Guard in his head, but her startling blue eyes had nearly finished the matter then and there. He was embarrassed suddenly by his inexperience. He could please Cersei on instinct at this point, but Brienne had different needs. “Try to stay relaxed, and if something feels good, go along with it,” he advised.

“It all feels good,” she said, much to his relief. It felt like bliss, in fact.

He would have to learn what she liked as they went. That didn’t seem too onerous a task. Jaime leaned down to kiss her neck again, letting his body express the depth of his love, for as long as he could.

“You can wrap your legs around me,” he suggested.

She did so, crying out for the first time as her hips tilted up. _That was pleasure,_ Jaime realized. He'd never heard her cry out in pleasure before, but hoped to become familiar with the sound soon. He could thrust in and out very smoothly now, and her response intensified each time.

He kept himself delicately balanced between appreciating the amazing sensations of their lovemaking and letting go too quickly. They'd waited far too long to rush. He resumed his recitation. _Ryam Redwyne appointed Harold Westerling and the twins – oh gods she’s squeezing so tight – um, Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, the twins who fought each other – she’s really loud. Cersei doesn’t yell - uh, the twins fought at the Dance of Dragons – Ooh, my name. I like that. Oh gods – when both Aegon and Rhanyra were crowned – uhn so tight; thighs squeezing too – so strong - no - can’t hold it anymore._ Jaime's passion overcame him, and he spilled his seed inside the woman he'd loved for so long, at last. 

 

Brienne woke with a jump the next morning when she took in the state of her – no, Jaime's – room. It hadn’t been a dream. She was naked, and so was Jaime, and his arm was wrapped around her chest, holding her close. He stirred as she rolled over.

“I left Pod alone all night,” she said.

“I bet he figured out what was going on,” Jaime replied drowsily. “Remember who he worked for.”

“Oh gods,” she made to get up, but Jaime squeezed her into a tight embrace.

“Relax. The sun’s barely up.” More sincerely, he asked, “Are you feeling okay about what we did?” 

“Yes. I’m very glad. Confused, but glad.”

“Next time will be better,” Jaime promised.

“It will? I don’t know if I’ll survive it, then. There was so much pleasure I thought my heart was going to burst.”

“No pain?”

“No,” she replied and watched Jaime’s grin change from relieved to cocksure. She hesitated, then decided to push forward. “There will be a little blood on the sheets, though. I saw it.”

“You saw it? How?”

“In the flames. I saw…I knew it would happen here sometime because I saw this room and the…aftermath. I’m sorry I didn’t mention anything. I didn’t want to influence you.”

Relief coursed through Jaime. Her secret wasn’t as big as his, but it was a nice icebreaker. “I don’t mind. Speaking of confessions, I hope you’re not going to be too disappointed in me, but I seem to have broken another vow.”

It was a jest of some kind, she could tell. His eyes were sparkling despite his somber words. “Oh, do tell.”

“It’s a big one. King’s Guard. ‘I shall take no wife.’”

> **Yesterday Evening**
> 
> In his search for patrons, Jaime had visited some of the most impressive areas of the city. He and Pod stood in the courtyard of the Grand Temple of R’hllor, easily three times the size of the Sept of Baelor. He had thought that some city leaders may follow the religion, but this proved to be an error. No more than 1 in 10 of the people he saw were even free, much less highborn.
> 
> Jaime walked past a priestess with flames tattooed on her cheek. She said something in Valyrian. Pod replied, also in Valyrian. Jaime nodded politely.
> 
> “Clever boy. Is he your son?” the priestess asked in musically accented common.
> 
> “No, he’s a squire. I have no children.” Even here, you never knew who could be listening.
> 
> “Ah, then I pray R’hllor warms your wife’s womb with a child just as pleasing.”
> 
> Jaime turned to focus on the priestess. He kept receiving odd comments like that, and he’d had just about enough of it.
> 
> “I’m not married,” he told her.
> 
> The red priestess gave him a stern look. “You should take off your wedding band if you want anyone to believe that. You know, the temple prostitutes do not care. It is all part of the worship.”
> 
> _Wedding band._ Jaime stared at his bracelet. The initiation ceremony from Pentos reconfigured itself in his mind. Now that he thought about it, there had been an awful lot of pairing off in that ceremony.
> 
> “That’s what this is called?” He held up his arm.
> 
> “Yes, though some wealthy followers replace it with a bracelet of red jewels. It’s only a symbol. The vows you took before R’hllor were the lasting part. As the priest told you-” she repeated a somewhat familiar sounding Valyrian phrase.
> 
> “What the fire binds together, no man can tear apart,” Pod translated.

“Do you remember that R’hllor ritual we attended in Pentos, where we jumped through the fire and they gave us bracelets? Turns out, it was a mass wedding ceremony. R’hllor has been encouraging marriage ahead of the prophesied wars. We’ve been man and wife for almost two weeks!”

“That’s not true!” Brienne exclaimed. What a weird jape. He already had her in his bed, what was the funny part?

“No, truly. I spoke with a red priestess about it. Not _the_ red priestess. This city is lousy with followers of R’hllor. These,” he held up his bracelet, “are called wedding bands. For them, it’s like the exchange of cloaks. The priest sealed our union with fire. So, I’m afraid it’s a done deal.”

Brienne had to open and close her mouth a few times before words would come out. “We didn’t understand the vows. We don’t even worship that god. It can’t count.”

“She says it does.” Jaime sat up to better watch Brienne’s expression. “You’re not the slightest bit happy about it?”

“I…yes. But, your vows. There’s no way-”

“The way I see it, I’m breaking a vow either way. To you and R’hllor, or to the King’s Guard. So, I might as well keep the one that makes me happiest. Also, I must consider your circumstances. You don’t want to be a set aside woman. You’ll never make a good marriage now.” He was teasing, but there was a drop of reality in it. He’d twisted himself into knots worrying about Brienne’s future until the red priestess had told him the truth about Pentos.

“I would never have married anyway, and I would have done what we did last night without the benefit of marriage. I’m quite sure I mentioned it.”

“Well, now you don’t have to.” _If I’m very lucky she won’t put it together-_

“Hold. You found out yesterday evening? Before…”

_Godsdamnit._ “Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me until now, because…why? You were testing me to see if I would really go through with it?”

“I thought you might lose your nerve. I didn’t want you to feel obligated if you changed your mind once we moved from fantasy to reality.” _Hey, that was a pretty good lie. Probably because it’s completely true, just not the real reason._

“I wasn’t going to chicken out! I’ve been all but begging-” _He’s lying! Look how his eyes shifted. Holy father, I caught him in a lie. That’s something I can do now. Focus. Why lie? Something to do with the timing._ “No. Wait. It’s because once a marriage has been consummated, it’s a lot harder to set aside. You…you wanted to make sure-”

“I knew you’d be tempted to put a vow I made when I was 15 years old ahead of yourself. According to the red priestess, R’hllor says marriage vows are permanent anyway. But yes, we could have found a septon to say otherwise easily enough a few hours ago.” With enough money, religious doctrine got wobbly. “We probably still can, back at King’s Landing, if you really want out of it,” he added reluctantly.

_King’s Landing!_ “Oh Gods! Cersei’s going to have us strung up by our intestines!”

“No. She’s going to laugh.” Jaime chuckled himself. He wished they could head back to King’s Landing right now rather than trying to worm their way into Meereen.

“I really don’t think so.” Brienne panicked as vivid imagery of torture passed through her mind’s eye. Maybe Cersei would spare Jaime, if she begged.

“What – you think she was planning to marry you? Or me? That doesn’t work unless your last name is Targaryen. Hells, I think she was about a flask of Arbor Gold from suggesting it herself. She loves you, Brienne. And she knows I love you, too.”

“She does?”

“Yes. So, it may be a bit complicated at first, but I think we can handle it. Honestly, being married will be a nice excuse to explain why we’re always together. You’re really family now.”

“Oh Gods!” Brienne turned pale and wide-eyed again.

“Brienne?” _She is really not taking this as well as I’d hoped._

“How am I supposed to explain any of this to my father?”

That did give Jaime a moment of pause. Selwyn Tarth might, in fact, have something to say about him absconding with his daughter and marrying her without his consent. It would be such a shame if she ended up a widow so young.

 


	30. Volantis II - The Old City

“Are you Lady Lannister or is S-Sansa? Ser Jaime is the elder b-brother,” Pod asked. Learning about heraldry and proper titles were part of his responsibilities as a squire.

“No, it would be Sansa. Tyrion is still the heir. Even if Jaime is dismissed from the King’s Guard, I don’t imagine he’ll insist on Casterly Rock. I rather get the sense he’d like to distance himself from it.”

“I s-s-see. Does that mean I go b-back to Tyrion when we return to Westeros?” Pod couldn’t keep the disappointment from his face.

“It’s your choice, Pod. Personally, I hope you choose to stay with me. Jaime’s always saying I should have my own squire. As much as I love Tyrion, he’ll never be able to teach you to fight.”

“I’d like that as well, my lady. S-Ser.”

“‘My lady’ will do. Let’s not make this any stranger than it needs to be.” Brienne had always shied away from the title of Lady, but she supposed she’d better start getting used to it. Once the nobility found out she’d married Jaime, no one would ever call her anything else.

“Thank you, my lady. I’ve already learned m-much and m-more from you, and we’ve not yet seen a real fight.”

“Don’t discount what Tyrion taught you, though. The Valyrian has certainly come in handy.” Brienne suddenly realized, “You were with Jaime, right? At the Temple of R’hllor, when he found out that we were married. Can you tell me more about it?” She wanted to know how he had reacted, but was too ashamed to ask her squire if he’d seemed more horrified or pleased.

“Well, she s-said he was m-married, and he got real quiet. You can always tell he’s thinking hard when he st-stops talking for a m-minute.” Brienne nodded at Pod. He had some acute observational skills, quite a useful quality for a knight. “He smiled real b-big.” Brienne unconsciously mirrored this. “Then he st-started asking the poor lady so m-many questions I thought she was going to run away. He’d ask two or th-three at once then give her a chance to respond and come b-back with two or th-three more.”

“What sort of things did he ask?” Brienne tried to sound casual.

“First he asked about the c-ceremony. Why there were so m-many people at once. What exactly the vows had b-been. Whether consummation was necessary for it to count.”

“Oh. What were the vows?”

“To sh-share your fire, to warm each other, to protect each other when the n-night is dark and full of terrors. I think the vows are kind of s-symbolic. Like the b-bracelets. Ser Jaime asked m-more about those. Whether you could take them off or s-swap arms. B-Because he said yours was on your s-sword arm and might b-bother you. And made s-sure it was okay you were foreigners.”

Brienne couldn’t help but be amused. He sounded like Tyrion, attacking an argument from every angle to make sure it was solid. _He wants it to be solid,_ she realized and felt strengthened.

“Then he came up with s-some really odd questions. Like does R’hllor m-marry people of the same sex, or more than two p-people to each other. Those ones m-made her nervous. She said R’hllor would s-sanction a variety of relationships, but that everyone had to b-be in agreement. I think she thought he was asking after me,” Pod said.

“That’s definitely not what he was doing,” Brienne reassured him.

 

“Scratch the _Silken Lynx_ ,” Jaime said. He ran his fingers through his hair. This was becoming ridiculous. There was not a ship to be found to Meereen for any price. His father had always said everyone has a price, but apparently he’d not met Volantene shipowners terrified of losing their investment. The Dragon Queen needs ships, everyone knew. “I’d have to be insane to sail one loaded with my crew right into her harbor,” was the general consensus. The _Silken Lynx_ was a cut-down smuggling cog, too small to be of use in battle, much less to take to the open seas. Her captain had agreed to let them off within rowing distance of Meereen in a dinghy. Asking around, Jaime had determined that he’d negotiated this deal several times, but not bought any replacement dinghies. The other unfortunates dumped overboard with their throats slit, he’d wager.

“Do we start to consider the land route?” Brienne asked.

“Through the demon roads? We’d have to hire a mercenary company to march with us.” Even then, the wasting sickness seemed to strike anyone who got too close to the ruins of Valyria. His uncle Gerion had disappeared there in search of the family sword, Brightroar. Jaime had always admired his valor and felt an aversion to approaching the area that conquered him.

“It’s that or admit defeat. We’ve been here almost two weeks now. I mean, I enjoy having so much time to spend, um being together. But we really must call an end to the honeymoon at some point.”

“Honeymoon? So you’ve decided not to try to get out of it? Or are you just going to leave that to your father?”

“You’ve convinced me. Perhaps together we can convince him. Besides, it’s apparently the only way to get you into bed. Who’d have thought the Kingslayer would be such a prude?”

“Who’d have thought the Maid of Tarth would be so eager to lose her title?”

“Who knew you could make a girl feel so good?” Brienne’s eyes started to darken. Yes, she was growing too used to this.

“If you knew how it felt, wouldn’t you have done it years ago? Your father’d have four or five grand-bastards running around Evenfall Hall by now.” They should probably talk about children. As near as Jaime could estimate, since they’d first made love, he’d successfully avoided spending himself inside of her about zero out of a dozen times. He couldn’t help it! The wench felt incredible, and her legs were strong. When they clasped hard around his hips, if she didn’t want to let him free, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“No, I would never have,” she began, then flushed at the realization that she’d been well headed in that direction. “What about you? I thought you were reformed, and there you go debauching a maiden.”

“It was the maiden’s idea, as I recall.”

A woman drenched in fragrance approached their booth. Her bearing marked her as upper class and her features as old-blood Valyrian. She seemed impatient with the lovebirds’ display.

Jaime stood. “May I be of assistance, my lady?”

“I hate the lower city. It reeks. How can you bear to eat that?” She gestured at their entirely palatable platter of roast lamb with garlic and braised tubers. “Never mind. My sister sent me to deliver a message to the couple of warriors who fought with Oberyn Martell at the Greenblood. That’s you two, I’m to understand?”

“Yes, my lady, we had that honor.” Jaime had no idea how anyone here had heard about that. They’d been in the city long enough to enter the rumor mill, apparently. Good to know.

“Hmpf. You fought alongside him; she bore his bastard. He’s not usually much concerned with honor. ‘Couple of warriors’…cute. My sister doesn’t usually have much of a sense of humor. She must be feeling feisty. You may meet Lady Orentha’s messenger at the entrance to the Old City when the bells ring mid-morning tomorrow. She will see you at her manse. I believe she has several matters to discuss with you.”

“That’s very kind of her. Give her our thanks.”

“Oh, I doubt it’s kind. Just because she’s giving you what you asked for doesn’t mean she’s doing you any favors.”

 

The Long Bridge connects the eastern and western halves of Volantis. It is the longest bridge in the known world, one of Longstrider’s Nine Wonders Made by Man. The Old City was originally established east of the Rhoyne river, but gradually expanded so that newer areas first abutted and then crossed the river. During the height of their power, the Valyrian rulers authorized the construction of the fused stone bridge so that the city could be unified.

Not ones to graciously share territory with immigrants, freedmen, and slaves, the old Valyrian families built the Black Wall around the heart of Old Volantis. The great oval of fused black stone reaches two hundred feet high, effectively sealing off Old Volantis and preserving their way of life. To this day, no one who is not of the Old Blood is allowed to live inside or even visit without permission.

Brienne, Jaime, and Pod rode an elephant cart across the bridge. Jaime was becoming used to the beasts’ lurching progress, and it was always worth it to see Brienne smile. The Long Bridge featured shops lining both sides, with upper floors that increased in size with each story so that their tops threatened to touch and turn the bridge into a tunnel. They were arranged in no particular order, with fishmongers selling right next to lace merchants, all in the shadow of a brothel. About two thirds of the way across, Jaime saw what he needed. He told the driver to stop the cart and hopped out.

When he returned, he presented Brienne with a bracelet made of a dozen polished rubies linked onto a gold chain. Each stone appeared to have a star somehow etched inside.

“I thought you might want something more formal to wear instead of the cloth band. They’re called star rubies…like the Evenstar? I hope you like it. Pod helped me place the order, so blame him if something didn’t come across in translation. Do you like it? I know you don’t generally wear jewelry, but-”

She had to kiss him to shut him up. The Kingslayer, babbling like a nervous swain; how could she possibly cause that effect? Tears welled up in Brienne’s eyes. Opening her heart this much almost hurt. She did not trust easily, and the vulnerability necessary to believe that his love would not someday turn into mockery made her dizzy with fear. He didn’t know that no man had ever given her jewelry before; that she’d assumed only pretty girls got those sorts of presents.

“Thank you. Of course I love it,” she whispered to keep any tears out of her voice.

“Good. We must look our best for the Old Blood of Valyria,” he replied, not bothering to hide his disdain. Lannisters were far more used to people seeking their favor. Putting on a show of patience and humility was going to be a stretch.

 

The gates of the Black Wall loomed before them, their glassy stone surface carved with images of dragons and other fantastical beasts. Brienne dismounted the cart and stumbled a step before regaining her balance.

“Are you all right?” Jaime asked. She looked shaky, maybe even a little paler than usual.

“Of course,” she replied, annoyed until she took in the sincere concern on his face. “It’s just…I’m having moon’s blood. Nothing to worry yourself about.”

“Oh thank the gods,” he replied, too relieved to keep it to himself.

Brienne threw him a puzzled look. _Did he think I caught some strange disease in this place?_

“I thought you might be with child. We’ll need to be more careful.”

Brienne’s mouth dropped open. _That – I hadn’t even been worrying about that. I’d only been hoping he’d still lie with me despite the mess. I suppose we should start practicing some discipline. On the other hand, this is the safest time, right?_

A young girl with a pair of winged boots tattooed on her face bowed to Jaime and Brienne. “Westerosi? I have papers for Jaime of House Lannister and Brienne of Houses Tarth and Lannister.” Jaime hid a grin behind his hand that their marriage had made the rumor mill almost before they’d known about it themselves. The girl proffered a bundle of documents that Pod determined were authorizations for entry. Pod wasn’t mentioned by name, but the gate guards didn’t balk at admitting the Westerosi’s squire.

The messenger led them to a nearby palanquin and gestured for them to step inside. Four slaves waited to carry them to their destination. They lifted the litter and traveled along so smoothly that Brienne first could only think how preferable it was to ride through the city rather than walk. She then felt guilty about contributing so much burden to someone else in the oppressive, humid heat.

 

The Lady Orentha greeted them in her garden, and presented them with a full table of delicacies. She’s heard of the dishes served at upperclass Westerosi gatherings, Jaime could tell, but her choice of fare left something to be desired. Brienne wouldn’t know what to do with candied quail’s eggs, stuffed pigeon breasts, and fish roe. She’d have pleased her guests more by serving sausages and hot bread.

Orentha herself was older and more petite than her sister, but no less direct. “Please take a moment to have some tea and refreshments. We have important matters to discuss.”

Jaime took a few bites to be polite, and Brienne copied him. Neither were sure if the Volantese followed the custom of guest right, but it did no harm to establish themselves.

“Your sister mentioned that we have a mutual friend in Prince Oberyn,” Jaime said.

“Hmm. Yes, I suppose you would fit his tastes. Both of you.”

“He didn’t mean it like that!” Brienne protested. Jaime touched her knee to calm her. “Prince Oberyn never-” _Actually, he did, didn’t he? I thought he was joking, but…_

“It’s a joke, Brienne,” Jaime whispered. More loudly he said, “The famous Esson sense of humor. My father always warned me, they’ll strip you to the bone and not so much as curl a lip.”

_This was even worse than the capital_ , Brienne thought. In the Stormlands, when someone makes a joke, they laugh so everyone knows to laugh with them. Why do the others make it so complicated?

“How is Oberyn, and my dear Nymeria? He took her away with him when she was two, you know. Just as well. I only dallied with him to scandalize my father. He’s not of the Old Blood, so she couldn’t have stayed past her age of majority.”

“Prince Oberyn and your lovely daughter are quite well,” Jaime replied smoothly. He wasn’t at all confident he could have identified which of Oberyn’s girls was Nymeria, but they were all fine as far as he knew.

“I’ve been hearing that you’re trying to get into Meereen. Now why would that be?”

“Surely you can understand that our family’s interests could come into conflict with the Dragon Queen’s. We wish to evaluate her strength and gauge the loyalty of her followers. Perhaps see some dragons.”

“She has proven difficult to dislodge, like a troublesome burr. Still, the dragons are the threat, not her. Without her to control them, they could run amok. It would be best if she was brought to heel. Humbled like only a failed attempt to rule a single city could do. Thus far, she has been able to declare victory and move on with her ever growing army of former slaves. Now, however, she is stuck in Meereen, and must reckon with the consequences of her actions.”

“What would you have us do to get into Meereen?”

“Nothing. I would have you avoid Meereen. The situation is too precarious at the moment to throw more external elements into it. There’s a reason you’re finding all routes closed. The families who live here do not want you there. We believe the situation will resolve itself within a handful of moons if there are no additional complications. Having you two stirring the pot and providing information about the situation in Westeros count as unwelcome complications.”

“Nonetheless, we promised our queen we would do our best to assess the situation,” Brienne said. Jaime wanted to kick her and kiss her at the same time. She’d never have a talent for diplomacy, but he had to admire her willingness to stand up for her duty.

“Yes, but are you certain your queen is still in control of King’s Landing?”

“What?” Brienne and Jaime chorused. They exchanged startled glances.

“I’ve received this letter from abroad. I believe it was originally intended for you, but you know how unreliable those ship captains can be.”

The letter was in Tyrion’s hand. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief to see his brother’s mark. The last he’d heard, Tyrion and Kevan were headed for a conflict at the Twins over Edmure Tully.

> Dear Ser Jaime and the Former Maid of Tarth (I do hope that’s your title by now),
> 
> Please return to King’s Landing at your earliest convenience. There are matters afoot concerning our sister. We’ve had our differences, but this is a threat to us all.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Lord Tyrion of House Lannister

“Have you any news of the queen?” Jaime asked. His heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

"No, as far as we are aware, the little king, his wife, and the queen mother are all well. I don’t suppose you have any insights you could share about why your brother was so alarmed.”

“No, I honestly have no idea. Tyrion can be a bit excitable.” He’d made a joke in the salutation, Jaime told himself, so perhaps it was nothing truly so urgent.

“Hmm. I suppose this letter backs that up,” she said. “We thought it passing odd that there was a different sender, though. Any comments?” She handed Jaime a second letter, dated a week past the first.

> Dear Ser Jaime,
> 
> There is no need to return to King’s Landing. There are no threats to the crown, and the city is well supplied and garrisoned. See your mission through; all is under control here.
> 
> Ser Kevan of House Lannister, Hand of the King

Jaime sucked air through his teeth. He pointed to Kevan’s signature. “He got overconfident. If he’d left his title off, I might have done as he said. But there’s no way my sister accepts him as…Tommen’s Hand. Something has happened to her. We need to go home.”

 

Lady Orentha helpfully arranged for the Westerosi to find a ship headed for King’s Landing. Jaime was close to 100% sure that she’d held it in the harbor expressly for that purpose. She casually mentioned Oberyn once more and asked them to deliver a letter to him. Why, after reading their mail, she thought to trust them with her love note, Jaime couldn’t have said. Worse, Brienne wouldn’t let him open it.

They were several days out of Volantis, enjoying the ocean breeze above decks when Jaime heard a commotion from the crow’s nest. He watched as a mate slid down some ropes to bring the Myrish lens to his captain on the bridge. The captain scanned the horizon and cursed, loudly and in several tongues.

“What is it?” Jaime asked.

“We’re buggered. It’s Ironborn longships. Dozens of them.”

 


	31. At Sea (The Black Wind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is having a Happy Yuletime! I'm not planning to sour that. Don’t worry…

The Ironborn fleet steadily approached the helpless ship. The _Silver Arrow_ was a unarmed caravel out of Volantis, chosen for its speed but no match for the longships. Brienne and Jaime didn’t even have long to hope they would be passed by. The eager shouts and taunts from the Ironmen traveled well on the ocean breeze.

“Get your armor on,” Jaime yelled to Brienne.

“They’re not going to fight, Jaime,” she gestured at the ship’s crew. “They know we’re outnumbered. There’s no call to risk their lives; the shipping company will ransom them back.”

“Get your helm on,” he demanded, frantic with fear. In her armor, there’s a chance, a slim one, that she’ll be overlooked. If they realize she’s a woman…oh gods, he didn’t want to think about what they would do to her.

Brienne picked up on his urgency if not his full chain of thought and ran to their cabin to don her armor. When she emerged dressed for battle, the Ironborn flagship was pulling aside their caravel to board. Their captain waited sullenly, hands empty of steel.

“Don’t say anything,” Jaime said. “Don’t fight. Stay with me. Don’t talk.” Brienne had never seen him look so panicked. He clanged her visor shut, and she finally realized what he’d feared all along. She dashed back to their cabin, drawing a squawk from Jaime. She returned in short order with Pod, whom she positioned between the two of them.

_Of course, the boy’s in danger, too,_ Jaime realized. _It’s folly to believe I can protect either of them._ His mind spun with forceful reminders of the bitter shame he’d always feel guarding Aerys’ door while he abused his wife…not to mention Robert with Cersei. None of his talent with a sword, his money, or his family name could save those he loved from pain, then or now.

The captain seemed to be trying to negotiate with the Ironborn, but of course he had nothing on hand to offer them that they couldn’t just take. Seeing no fight in the ship’s crew, the invaders started to herd them below decks. Jaime made to follow meekly along, shielding Pod from sight as much as possible. He felt Brienne put her hand on his shoulder to keep from becoming separated. _If it’s dark below decks, and if I can get them into a corner, maybe, just maybe…_

“Hey, big fellow, come over here,” a woman’s sharp voice cut through the din. Jaime and Brienne both looked back to see who had spoken. They saw a dark haired woman in a kraken-ornamented breastplate. She kept ordering various Ironborn to take over roles filled by the crew of the _Silver Arrow_. Plainly they were a bit short handed, not having expected to capture a ship this close to Essos.

“Yeah, you in the armor, c’mere,” she said.

Brienne pushed Pod firmly toward Jaime in a wordless plea.

“I’ve got him,” Jaime whispered, praying he could keep that promise at least.

 

Brienne trotted over to the female Ironborn. _Was she their captain? She certainly acted like it._

“Alright. You look plenty strong enough to hold this boom here while we re-rig the sails. You let go and anyone ends up in the water, you’ll follow right after. Got it?”

Brienne nodded. She kept the boom steady even as the rigging loosened and the wind started to rattle the sails.

“Nice,” the captain commented. “Have you sailed before?”

Brienne nodded again.

“Man of few words, eh? I like that sometimes. Where are you from, then? Come on, give me one word.”

“Tarth,” Brienne pitched her voice as low as she dared.

“What, the island in the Stormlands? Alright, you can stop playing hard to get; you’ve won me over.” The Ironborn captain’s voice held clear notes of mischief. “So, would you rather…oh shit!” She’d been about to ask something before she playfully lifted Brienne’s visor. It clanged down again, and the captain looked her over carefully. “Huh.”

A couple of the Ironborn crewmen slid down from the rigging.

“It’ll hold, Captain,” one said.

“Good. Now, see to the prisoners; make sure they’re secure. Get ‘em some grub if they’re restless. That usually calms ‘em down.”

“Aye. Him too?” He pointed at Brienne.

“Nah, this great big gorgeous greenlander has been reassigned to my cabin for the time being. I’ll take him over to the _Black Wind_ myself. He’d better not give me any trouble.” She doubted ‘he’ would, considering the terror she’d just seen in those eyes.

“Aye, Captain,” they snickered, the younger one shooting Brienne a plain glare of jealousy.

The captain shoved Brienne hard, leading her toward the boarding plank between the ships. Brienne couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment before stepping onto the slick wooden surface. If she fell off wearing all this armor, she’d sink straight to the bottom.

“Yeah, if you fall, you’ll meet the Drowned God. It’s an honor. Now get a move on.”

Brienne crossed as quickly as she dared. The captain followed with practiced grace. She guided Brienne to a tiny, private room in the fore of the ship.

“Calm yourself. I’m going to let you stay in here because, well, we’ve been at sea for weeks. None of my men have seen a woman in that time, and I reckon if they find you, they’ll do you over until nothing is left. You’ll need to stay behind this door unless you want every man on this ship on top of you. Understand?”

“I do, mostly. But you’re a woman. They’ve seen you.” Brienne’s nerves felt whipsawed by the sudden change in fortune. She supposed she had little choice but to obey the woman who’d helped her this far.

“I’m their captain. And an Ironborn. And a Greyjoy. I’ve earned their respect.” She considered for a moment then stuck out her hand. “Yara Greyjoy, queen of the Iron Islands.”

Brienne clasped her arm. “Brienne of Tarth, knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I could chain you up, but where are you going to go? We’re in the middle of the sea. You just stay put and behave.”

“Aye, Captain. Or do you prefer Your Grace?”

“I – you just, stay,” she said, looking a bit flustered as she left, slamming the door hard behind her.

Brienne couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d accidentally ended up in Cersei’s bedroom. What was it with her and queens?

 

They’d been below decks for hours and there was no sign of Brienne. The Ironborn had searched the _Silver Arrow_ prisoners for weapons and loose valuables, then locked them in the hold. They had found a few candles, and about an hour ago, their captors had brought in some dinner rations. Beyond that, they'd been ignored. Jaime perversely found himself wishing they were on a slave galley. Perhaps then the rowers could have been organized to fight. These freedmen valued their lives too much to go against the Ironborn. None of them were going to charge a bunch of hardened killers for a woman who may already be dead.

“When’s Lady Br-Brienne going to j-join us?” Pod asked. It was only his third question on the matter, but each felt like a fresh knife wound to Jaime’s gut.

“I don’t know, Pod.” _Be strong. Do it for him._ Jaime listened with all his concentration. She’d fight no matter what the odds, he knew in his heart. It wasn’t the smartest choice, but it’s the one she’d make. He hadn’t heard any commotion yet, which he took to be a good sign.

“Shouldn’t we t-try to rescue her, Ser? We c-could wait n-near the door, and when they next open it we c-could attack.”

If Jaime had been alone, that’s exactly what he would have done. He’d fight his way above decks and find his wife or die trying. He’d promised Brienne to protect the boy, though. Jaime stroked Pod’s hair. He couldn’t leave him below decks by himself, and he couldn’t take him along on a desperate rescue attempt.

Jaime led Pod away from the light and sat down with him. “Rest if you can. I’ll wake you when she shows up.” Pod curled beside Jaime, lying his head on his lap. Jaime wished he hadn't seen the tears Pod valiantly tried to hide.

 

The Ironborn captain/queen returned to her quarters with an armload of food. Brienne sensed it was a test, so she didn’t ask for anything. Her stomach had other ideas, its growling clearly audible in the small cabin.

“Would you like something to eat?” Yara asked with a smirk. A small, petty part of her liked forcing nobles to beg for their suppers. Tarth hadn’t taken part in putting down the Greyjoy Rebellion as far as she knew. Still, even minor nobles always looked down their noses at her people. Most of them, anyway.

“I was trying to think of a way to ask you for a small favor, so I didn’t want to push my luck,” Brienne replied.

“What, letting you stay here isn’t favor enough? You want my bunk now; have me sleep on the floor?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted to get a message to my companion on the _Silver Arrow_. To tell him I’m all right. He’s probably thinking of doing something stupid by now.” She tugged off her gauntlets to run her fingers through her hair. Jaime would be fine if he’d sit still. Unfortunately, that was one of his less developed skills.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. I can see my way clear to that.” Yara stood to go talk to her signalman. “Go ahead, eat. I’ll be right back.”

When she returned, they finished the meal in companionable silence. Yara noticed the big knight conscientiously trying to avoid eating more than half, though she was obviously starving. Yara left plenty of leftovers and retired to her bunk to pick her teeth.

“Where are we going?” Brienne asked once the food was all gone. “You completely reconfigured the sails, so I suppose we’re not headed back to Westeros.”

“No, Meereen.”

“M-Meereen. The Dragon Queen? Why?”

“Well, I told you I’m the rightful queen of the Iron Islands, but my uncle Euron doesn’t see it that way. I decided to seek a powerful ally to retake my throne. There's a throne she wants too, as it happens, so I think we can help each other.”

“What about the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? She’s a lot closer.”

“Can’t trust Lannisters. They oughta replace their words with ‘Lannisters Lie’ instead of the bit about paying their debts.” The Lannisters had played a key role in the defeat of the Greyjoys, including the deaths of her two older brothers. She'd sooner ally with actual sharks.

Brienne didn’t think correcting her that the words were actually ‘Hear Me Roar’ would be a good idea, much less disclosing her marriage.

 

“Hey! Is there anyone here who gives a shit about a nine-fingered knight?” an annoyed Ironborn who looked like he’d drawn the short straw after being pulled away from his rum rations yelled from the door of the hold.

Jaime stood up so fast his knees popped. Pod followed a half-second later.

“Is there…I mean, I do. Do you have news?” Jaime said.

“The captain said to tell you that the nine-fingered knight is fine.” He turned to go. If he hurried, he could get back to the card game before fucking Harl finished cleaning out the new fish. Why that message had been important enough to flash between the ships he couldn’t have said, but Captain Greyjoy didn’t put up with any malingering.

“Wait! That’s all? Just fine?”

“Yep. He’s enjoying the hospitality of the _Black Wind_. You’ll share chains with him once we get to Meereen. I’m sure the captain will be tired of him by then.”

Jaime’s mind raced. Brienne wasn’t even on this ship. So, he couldn’t have rescued her…but he also wouldn’t have heard her if she was in trouble. She was under care of the captain, who said she was safe in enough code to show awareness of the situation. Which only made sense if…“Is the captain the woman we saw earlier?”

“That’s right. C’p’n Greyjoy, daughter of the Kraken.” He turned to go again. Nobody was paying him to talk to mouthy prisoners.

“And, Meereen? We’re going to Meereen?”

He faced the man once again. Captain Greyjoy hadn’t said _not_ to pummel the message’s recipient into silence. Still, he’d had enough rum to want to wrap himself in future glory. “You heard me. The Kraken will control the seas, and the Dragon will attack from the skies. The Seven Kingdoms won’t know what hit 'em.”

Jaime remembered the visions about dragons that Brienne had seen in the flames. He seemed to have gathered a key piece of information on how that could come to be. He just needed to find a way home to deliver the message, then rescue his sister from whatever troubles had detained her, then avert a prophecy. A arduous quest, to be sure, but he was still living and so was Brienne. Where there’s life, there’s hope.

 

“You ever going to take your armor off? Don’t reckon you can sleep in that.” Yara half-reclined on her bunk, watching Brienne with the self-assurance of a cat.

“If you like. I just wanted to be ready if I needed to hide behind my helm.”

“Nah, no one will bother you so long as I’m here.”

Brienne stripped down to her tunic, taking off all her layers of mail and leather. She tried not to feel self-conscious, but it would help if the queen didn’t regard with such prurient curiosity.

“You certainly are an interesting looking woman.”

“You’ve got a gift for tact, Your Grace. Most people just say I’m ugly.” Cersei had called her pretty the last time they were together. Brienne’s heart had melted when she’d understood that she meant it.

“I’m serious. They really grow ‘em big on Tarth.”

“Yes, well.” Oddly, Brienne didn’t feel like Yara was trying to be insulting; she’s just maybe not so great at giving compliments. “Do you value strength on the Iron Islands?”

“Oh yeah, very much. I’d give half my kingdom for those arms.”

Brienne didn’t think it was her imagination. The Ironborn queen was flirting.

“Thank you for letting me stay with you, and not…letting your men have me.”

“Maybe I’m just greedy. Saving you all for myself.” Yara couldn’t help but tease the lady knight a little. She had such deep, innocent eyes; she might never have heard of two women lying together. Yara had no intention of forcing the issue, however. This giant slab of woman would obviously take quite a few to hold her down or a long, thorough beating as foreplay. Neither idea sounded appealing.

“Have you been with many women?” the knight asked, appearing disappointingly unscandalized. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she looked.

“Quite a few, yeah. Like to think I leave ‘em satisfied. Why? You interested, big girl?” Okay, she hadn’t planned on having her way with her prisoner, but if the waves broke in that direction, she was willing to roll with it.

Brienne powered through her embarrassment, determined to take advantage of the opportunity. “I was thinking more of a girl back home. She and I have come close, but um, not quite. She said some rather puzzling things. And, uh, I have questions.”

 

Jaime stepped onto the dock of Meereen squinting into the sun. Pod probably had bruises where he’d clutched him so tightly, but he’d done his duty. No one had bothered the boy. The Ironborn chained them together, carefully separating out the passengers from the crew of the _Silver Arrow_. The crew were given more leeway and conscripted into unloading the ship and carrying its cargo to the Dragon Queen’s pyramid as tribute.

He heard her before he saw her. “You don’t want to do that,” Brienne said, her commanding voice carrying over the rest of the noise. Jaime felt knots in his gut untie just at the certainty she still lived. He scanned the dock until he found her. She towered about a foot over the woman the others called Captain and was dressed only in her undertunic. Still, she didn’t seem hurt and only barely upset. Her scowl level was at about a 3; that's practically a smile. Jaime felt his gut loosen another notch.

“Oh, don’t I?” Captain Greyjoy said. She’d been trying to fasten a slave collar around the giantess’ neck. The height difference made it on the difficult side if she was going to resist. Yara didn’t want to have to ask her men for assistance; they were already put out that she’d kept a woman to herself for days.

“No, you don’t, because the Dragon Queen hates slavery. These are a symbol to her.” Brienne effortlessly pried the collar from Yara's hand and shook it. “You’d make a terrible first impression, marching in prisoners in collars and chains.”

“You might not be as muscle-headed as you look,” Yara said. She ordered her men to start unchaining the prisoners and rope their hands together instead, muttering all the while about bossy, highborn prisoners. Jaime found her expression of amused exasperation rather familiar from his own experience.

Jaime ran to Brienne as soon as no one directly had eyes on him. Their reunion began with such a confused welter of questions and reassurances that they could barely hear each other. They embraced, and each drew strength from the grounding quality of the other’s firm grip. They tried to talk again, this time warning one another not to tell anyone they were Lannisters (because the captain doesn’t trust them/I killed the queen’s father).

After everyone was roped and organized, the line of prisoners and tribute began to move toward the heart of the city. The Dragon Queen’s pyramid loomed ahead, their fate to be determined within.

“Well, mission accomplished, Wench,” Jaime said. “We made it to Meereen.”

 


	32. Meereen I - Tribute

Meereen was known as the greatest of the Ghiscari cities founded on Slaver's Bay. Jaime felt that was akin to being the handsomest Clegane or tastiest dogturd. So far, Ghiscari culture with its nigh all-encompassing focus on slavery had failed to make a positive impression. Slavery ran their economy, provided their entertainment, and in Meereen, all the Houses of the Great Masters were founded in human misery.

Each of the noble houses, a few dozen in all, had its own pyramid built of bricks of the house colors. The Great Pyramid, however, stood more than twice as tall as any of the others, dominating the city with its astonishing 33 levels. Its architecture plainly had not been achieved by the ancient magicks of the Valyrians or great feats of modern structural engineering. They'd just had decades worth of slaves pile millions of tons of stone in a stepped formation and carved out an interior.

The Dragon Queen claimed the Great Pyramid for her own when she'd taken the city. Therefore, captives and Ironborn alike were forced to march through the length of Meereen in order to pay tribute. Brienne dripped sweat by the time they arrived, and Jaime and Pod swayed on their feet. Heat attacked them from every side, even from beneath their feet as the paving stones radiated back the sun's energy. There were no shade trees or paths of green sod for relief, just stone as far as the eye could see.

The captives were made to wait outside as their worthwhile possessions and the trade goods from aboard the _Silver Arrow_ were brought into the pyramid as gifts for the queen. Brienne sighed to see their armor and priceless swords go by.

“It's just steel, Wench,” Jaime said tenderly. “It's replaceable. You're not. Promise me you'll follow my lead if I come up with a strategy that can save us, even if it's perhaps not entirely honest.” Jaime didn’t think he’d ever hated himself so much as when he'd waited helplessly in the hold of the ship while unsure of what was happening to Brienne. Certainly, killing Aerys hadn't come close. If he could think of any way to spare her suffering here, he'd act on it.

“I promise,” she said, taking his hand.

Once the goods had been presented, the captives were marched up the narrow, steep steps to the queen's audience chamber on the 32nd level. Brienne and Jaime were at the very end of the line. They had to wait as all the other passengers were brought before the queen and evaluated for ransom. Pod was called just before them, and though Brienne clutched at him, he went fearlessly with the Ironborn guards.

Finally, Brienne and Jaime were brought before the queen. The audience chamber was dim and cool despite the large braziers burning near each of the tall, purple marble columns. The oppressive heat from outside was soon forgotten in pyramid's chilly atmosphere. Its cavernous size swallowed up the majority of the heat and light, leaving most of the room in shadow. Perhaps a hundred Unsullied lined the chamber, but they stood as still as statues and were hard to tell apart in the apparent dusk of the room. Only the queen and the two advisers sharing her dais could be seen clearly.

In many ways, the queen’s appearance defied expectations. She must be young – no more than seventeen if she was truly the same girl born on Dragonstone where Rhaella Targaryen, sister-wife of Aerys, had fled to escape Robert Baratheon’s rebel army. However, her violet eyes were those of someone who’d lived a life full of compromise and loss, like a hardened sell-sword or a slave. She wore neither an Esson tokar or Westerosi brocade, but rather raw silk pants and a painted vest. From what Brienne and Jaime could tell, the Ironborn’s arrival had been unanticipated, but welcome. The Ironborn captain stood confidently before the queen’s seat to present her gifts.

Jaime had almost managed to convince himself that he had a plan that could work. If he introduced himself as Lancel Lannister, and Brienne as his new wife Amerei, and if they pretended to have innocently been honeymooning in Volantis; then surely Kevan would see through the deception to ransom them. He knew his son and gooddaughter were at Darry, so who else could be using the Lannister name from Essos? It was their best shot.

All his hopes turned to ash on seeing Barristan Selmy standing behind Daenerys as her Queen's Guard. Jaime almost erupted in perverse laughter when Selmy's jaw tightened in disgust as the captives were brought before the queen. Quickly, he thrust his mouth next to Brienne's ear. “Remember,” was all he had time to say.

Jaime and Brienne were made to kneel before the queen's plain, ebony bench. Its massive dais must have once sported some more elaborate throne, probably harpy themed. Since harpies were associated with slavery, gossip in the free cities was that all harpy statues were being pulled down in Meereen. Seeing that the queen’s principles extended to her own comfort concerned Jaime. Rulers driven by fanaticism were always more dangerous than those who could be trusted to follow their baser instincts. He hadn’t liked Robert Baratheon, but in many ways he’d been the easiest ruler to manage. (Yes, including his own children and sister).

“You are Jaime Lannister, known as the Kingslayer. Do you deny it?” Queen Daenerys said.

“Why would I deny it? It's a name famous in song and fable. They do not exaggerate my skills with a blade, though I hardly needed them the day I earned my title.”

One glance at Brienne told him he'd better take it down a notch. She already looked pale, and he couldn't have her speaking up and throwing her life away. _She doesn't understand that mine is already lost._

“And the lady?”

“Brienne of Tarth. Though why she's with me, I do not know. You should ransom her with the other minor nobles. Three hundred gold would be a reasonable offer. Perhaps you could get four, but her family’s best days are behind them.”

“The captain of the _Silver Arrow_ stated that you shared a cabin.”

“Yes, well, it was a long trip; I needed a certain type of companionship. I won't sully Your Grace's delicate ears with the details.”

“You couldn't do better than her?” Barristan Selmy asked.

 _Oh, I’d forgotten what a clever bastard you could be._ Much of Selmy’s martial skill at his age came from experience, yes, but also by cunning regard of his opponent and targeting of his weaknesses. Jaime had never known him to fall for a feint or fail to take advantage of an opponent’s loss of self control. Jaime wasn’t sure what he’d seen, but even a tender glance could have done it.

“That’s an unworthy statement from an anointed knight,” Jaime replied. “I thought I'd been efficient. Why not bring along a wench who could guard my back, so long as she’s also willing to be used as a whore?”

Brienne wondered if she should cry. She surely would have, not so many moons ago, when she’d have thought that he could mean it. She understood him better now, and that he was only trying to draw the queen’s attention away from her. She decided against faking any tears, not trusting her acting skills to be convincing in this high-stakes an arena. Instead, she ducked her head to show the embarrassment glowing on her cheeks which was in no way pretend.

Yara Greyjoy smirked and advised, “Ask her, Your Grace. Trust me, the truth’s out of her mouth before she takes the time to consider whether it’s a good idea. Allow me.” She stepped away from the dais and approached Brienne. “The message we sent over to the _Silver Arrow_. It was for him, wasn’t it?”

Brienne nodded. It was pretty clear it had to have been. No harm admitting it.

“Yeah. And you said you wanted to keep him from doing something stupid, right? Right. So, what were you thinking? He’d attack a couple dozen Ironborn ‘n try to take over a ship, while having no armor or weapon, mind you. That the kind of stupid we’re talking about?”

“Well, he is an excellent fighter.” Brienne knew she’d gotten them in trouble; she just couldn’t see the dimensions of it yet.

“To save you? Who he just called a whore.”

“I suppose I misjudged him.” She thought she did pretty well keeping her voice even and maintaining eye contact, but Yara shook her head.

“Nah. She might be _a little_ naïve,” Yara rolled her eyes at ‘a little,’ showing she meant ‘a lot,’ “but she’s no dummy being strung along by a lout. She really thought he might tear up that ship. She was trying to keep him safe then, like he’s trying to keep her safe now. I think they’re in love.” She smiled down at Brienne with a satisfied expression, then squinted and added, “I’m kinda curious as to how that other discussion we had fits into this, but I can mind my business for now.”

With some surprise, Jaime noticed Selmy and even the queen’s young scribe nodding in agreement.

“The Kingslayer has taken a consort?” Daenerys asked.

 _In for a groat, in for stag._ “Wife. We married in Pentos,” Jaime said. He glared at Selmy ready to absorb whatever vow-related chastisement would flow from his acid tongue.

“Oh. Then I suppose you should share-” Daenerys began.

“You understand she’s too young to have even known Aerys? She’s innocent. My fate should be mine alone.” Jaime realized he’d lost control of his emotions when he saw the queen’s eyes flash at the interruption.

“A cell, I was saying. You can share a cell. Determining your fate will take considerable discussion.”

 

The other passengers from the _Silver Arrow_ were being held under guard in bedchambers within the Great Pyramid, but Jaime and Brienne were escorted by a brace of Unsullied to a prison cell beneath the ground level. They could hear elephants trumpeting in the stables a floor or two above. Even their bizarre sounds couldn’t distract Brienne from her brooding, however.

“Is this better or worse than sharing a cabin with the Ironborn queen? Seems like she got to know you pretty well.”

“We got along okay,” Brienne said. Truth be told, she was a little upset at Yara for exposing her secrets so effortlessly. She'd thought they had a sort of friendship by the end. On the other hand, her primary objection had been that Brienne was playing too dumb, so that was nice... “She's crude, though kind of funny, and she talks too much, but underneath it all she has a good heart. I can't imagine how I learned to put up with such a person.”

“If you don’t want to talk, how ever will we pass the time?” Jaime said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

Brienne swept her gaze around their prison cell. There wasn’t much to see besides a bed and a chamber pot. Instead of having a proper solid door, it was more like a cage, with one entire wall made of metal bars. This allowed the jailers to observe the prisoners without having to expose themselves to attack by opening the door. Innovative, but...not very private.

“No one's watching us,” he cajoled.

“They're not right now, but...you'll make me yell,” she said shyly. “Someone might come to investigate what all the noise is about.” He didn't seem to do it on purpose. Even she could rarely predict how loud she'd be on any given day. The pleasure just demanded to be released that way sometimes. But...she wasn't growing any quieter as time went on; seemed to be rather the opposite.

“They already know, though. We're just confirming. C'mon, let's show them that Lannisters don't lie about everything.”

He kissed her, confident and dizzying as usual. All her reluctance seemed to melt away from the growing heat in her loins. After a time-less while, she opened her eyes to gaze into his.

“Pod,” she said.

“Um, no. But I’m a generous man. I’ll give you another guess.”

“Pod, are you well?” Brienne broke away and ran to the barred wall of their cell. She did her best to reach out to the boy. Jaime turned and less enthusiastically walked over to greet him.

Podrick had changed into a silken tunic much like those of the other children they’d seen scurrying around the pyramid. He carried a sizable tray that Brienne suspected contained their dinner. She could smell hot spices from two feet away.

“What are you doing here? Is she not going to ransom you with the others?” Brienne asked.

“W-well, my lady, when I t-told them that I was your squire, S-S-Ser Selmy suggested that she keep me around as s-s-surety for your good b-behavior.”

“You’re a bad influence, Wench. Your honesty is rubbing off on the boy. Probably ruining half of what Tyrion taught him.”

“I d-don’t know about that,” Pod said, “I never m-mentioned to anybody that I sp-spoke Valyrian. So, I’ve learned a th-thing or two, pouring w-wine at dinner.”

“Oh, well done!” Jaime beamed. “What news do you have so far?”

“The Ironborn queen and the Dragon queen are getting along real w-well, they say. Real w-well. And Queen Yara s-seems fond of my lady, so m-maybe she’ll turn Queen Daenerys’ s-sympathies towards her as w-well.”

Jaime smirked, figuring Pod didn’t understand what he’d implied. “Well, Brienne, if you have to take one for the team, I can think of worse.”

“Jaime!” _That is not the threesome I’ve considered._

“I will gallantly take your place, if you insist.”

“Jaime,” she grumbled “Why can’t you take our situation more seriously? We’re trapped in a prison cell in a land far from home. No one’s going to rescue us. She’s not offering us for ransom. We don’t know what’s happening in King’s Landing. I’m having trouble finding a bright side.”

“The bright side is we’re not dead yet. I didn’t expect to make it this long, personally. You and Pod, I hoped she might free, but I figured there’d be no chance for me. Every minute I still live after kneeling defenseless before the girl whose father I killed is a gift. It’s possible she thinks there may be some practical use for me yet. Have you heard anything, Pod?”

“I kn-know she’s worried about the other b-big cities on Slaver’s B-Bay. Astapor she conquered b-but left in the hands of a council. It promptly collapsed, w-with all the f-former slaves laying claim to their master’s p-property – and their masters – as compensation for p-past wrongs. They have a…king, I guess, who w-wants to ally with Daenerys against Yunkai. Yunkai’s the other city, the one she m-mostly passed by after they agreed to s-send out their slaves. They started sl-slave trading again right away, and now they’re th-threatening to march their armies of s-sellswords, first against Astapor, then M-Meereen.

“She m-might be considering having you lead s-some of her f-forces in these b-battles. She w-wouldn’t care if she lost you, b-but she’d sure like her Yunkai problem to g-go away,” Pod continued. “I don’t kn-know that to be the case, b-but it would make s-sense. She doesn’t have anyone here b-but Selmy that really knows about st-strategy for armies.”

“Hmm. In fact, I do have some advice for her on the matter. You might mention that to her and to Selmy, as well. I think we could have a mutually beneficial discussion,” Jaime replied.

 


	33. Meereen II - Bold Advice

Warm, safe, loved. Brienne couldn’t think of a better start to a day than waking up enfolded in her husband’s close embrace. The depth of her love for Jaime still sometimes shocked her. She’d had wistful fantasies about Renly, but they’d evaporate in the light of day. With Jaime, her feelings had developed so slowly she barely noticed it happening. Only when he lay at the Stranger’s door in Dorne was she forced to confront the emotion engraved on her heart. She realized then that his past was less important than the man he was becoming.

Recently, Brienne even braved opening her eyes during lovemaking. Before, she’d been afraid he couldn’t bear to look at her, but she discovered she’d been quite mistaken. His hair may be damp with sweat and mouth contorted in pleasure, but his eyes were on her the whole time. _He loves me_ , had started as a rumble from her subconscious but slowly turned into a full-throated roar. _He loves me. He’d do anything for me. And I, him. That’s how we’ll get through this._

So, when Brienne’s mind finally forced her all the way awake, she didn’t feel despondent to find them still in the Meereenese dungeon. Perhaps the safe feeling was an illusion, but so long as they were together, she could endure. The only risk was in Jaime attempting to be too noble and finding a way to send her back to Westeros without him. He didn’t seem to understand, perhaps because he’s a man. Women knew that someday they were expected to leave their parents’ homes and cleave to their husband. He was her home now, and she could never rest easy if they were apart.

She heard Pod hissing at her from the bars of the cell. He had their breakfast and was turned to face away so she could pull on her tunic in privacy, bless him.

“Thank you, Pod. Any news?” Brienne took the tray as Pod slid it through the slot. Toast, broth, bacon, and the juice of some red, pulpy fruit. So long as it wasn’t honey roasted dog again, she wouldn’t complain.

“I b-believe today is the day sh-she — Queen Daenerys, I mean — will d-decide to meet with S-S-Ser Jaime. Astapor’s s-sent another envoy. They’ve got no ch-chance if she doesn’t join with them.”

Brienne reached through the bars to grip Pod’s arm. “It’s a good thing, Pod. Try to remain hopeful. That she’s hearing him out at all is progress. She’s let us stew in here for a week. That’s enough time for her advisers to have talked her out of anything rash.”

“R-right,” Pod said, not adding what they were both thinking ‘if they are so inclined.’

Jaime joined them, donning a glib smile. “You can pass along that I’ve cleared my schedule. I am available at Her Grace’s leisure.”

“Yes, of course. G-Good luck, S-Ser.” Pod cast a regretful look over his shoulder and returned to his duties.

“He thinks you’re going to get yourself killed. _Please_ guard your tongue.”

“She’s not my first touchy Targaryen. I won’t be trying to make an ass of myself this time, don’t worry. I don’t know if she’ll talk to us together or separately. If it’s separate, you’ve got it all down?”

“Yes. Just promise that you won’t try to make any special arrangements for me. I want to see this through with you. Right beside you, if Her Grace sees fit.”

“I wish I could talk you out of that.”

“I know you do. You can’t, and you still haven’t promised.” Brienne pinned him with an ‘I’m not dropping it’ glare.

“Fine, I promise. You’re too stubborn for your own good, do you know that?”

“Perhaps. But if I wasn’t so stubborn we’d never have gotten this far.”

“I don’t know. I might have chased you down if you tried to run off. At least I would have once I realized how impossible you are to live without. Do you remember when you went to the Vale without me? My valet, my squire, and two of my fellow King’s Guard each snapped and told me to shut up about you. Seems that I drive everyone crazy when you’re not around.”

“Usually all your crazy-making is focused on me.”

“I guess that’s one for stubbornness. Your brain’s like a rock.”

“That’s not a compliment!”

Brienne’s raised voice almost drowned out the snicker from the hallway. The couple turned to see the Ironborn queen and eight Unsullied waiting.

Yara said, “Kingslayer, you go with them to see Queen Daenerys. I’ll stay here and have a little chat with your wife. Just for the record, though, I put in a good word. You’ve been locked up with her for a week, and you haven’t tried to kill her yet. You’re a better man than I.”

 

Despite the Ironborn’s words, both women had smiled (or scowl/smirked as the case may be) to see one another, so Jaime didn’t feel there was anything for Brienne to fear from Yara Greyjoy. He followed the eunuchs up what felt like an intentionally cruel number of stairs until they arrived at the queen’s audience chamber. None of the Unsullied were even flushed from the climb, which was an interesting piece of data he’d be sure to note provided he survived the next hour.

Back in the dungeon, Yara asked, “So, am I going to like whatever plan you two have concocted?”

“I think so. You like battle, right? Swooping down on slow, fat-bellied ships; taking lots of plunder?”

“I’ve been known to, yeah.” Yara looked at her skeptically, not having envisioned something so bold.

“How about if there’s enough danger to inspire a few songs, but not so much that you’ll lose many of your men? And once the fighting's done, more treasure than you can get your head around?”

“Do I get to go whoring after?”

“You absolutely do.”

“Alright then, sign me up. Let’s hope your hubby is as good a diplomat as you.”

“He does have the harder audience, admittedly.”

Brienne laid out more specific aspects and rationales behind the scheme. Yara’s opinion didn’t waver. She liked it, a lot, in fact. If Daenerys could put aside sentimental attachments, this plan would greatly stabilize her position.

“Well, that’s settled as far as I’m concerned. What should we talk about now? Oh, I know.” Yara reached into a pouch at her belt and removed a short, sparkly chain. When she held it up, Brienne could see the star rubies.

“My wedding band!”

“Yeah, I thought that’s what it was. When he said you were married, and I saw his red bracelet, I remembered something about that being a tradition around here. Then, I thought about that bit of jewelry we’d taken from you and felt kinda bad. Fished it out of the sack we presented to Daenerys. Anyway, here you go.”

“Thank you. I don’t know how I can repay you, but if I’m ever in an position-”

“For starters, you can tell me about the situation with your girlfriend. It’s killing me.” For Yara, having a quick and clever mind had its downsides. She couldn’t leave puzzles alone, and the big woman, the devoted husband, and the mystery lady didn’t quite fit together.

“The situation is pretty unresolved. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“You – you don’t think maybe your marriage will do that? At least if you keep taking your husband with you everywhere you go. I mean, I’m all for a girl in every port, but you’ve got to leave the hubby at home. That’s just common sense.”

“The marriage may deal us a setback, but I don’t think it’s insurmountable. I wouldn’t lie to either of them, anyway.”

“Well, there’s your first mistake.”

“Come on, you know I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Yara had to acknowledge that with a nod. With her broad face and clear eyes, the lady knight could hide approximately nothing. “Are you married? Is there a hubby back on Pyke?”

“No. God no. I suppose once I win my throne I’ll have to marry someone. Pop out an heir or two. Stop raiding. I kinda hope it takes a while.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. So, seriously, what’s so special about this girl?”

“She…sewed me a dress. Made me feel desirable. Said I was pretty.” Brienne looked down at her hands. It sounded shallow and embarrassing to hear it said out loud. “You think I’m an idiot. Naïve.” Brienne wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or Yara at this point.

“No! If you want the occasional dress or sparkly bracelet, so what? Everyone wants something like that every once in a while.” She put an arm around Brienne’s shoulders to make her stop looking so ashamed. “Everyone wants to be told they’re desirable, too. Hell, I pay for it sometimes. And I only said you were naïve because you seemed to think your girl is going to be keeping score in bed instead of just being delighted to have you there. You are kind of irresistible, actually. Infuriating, but yeah, you grow on a person.”

 

Jaime knelt immediately before Daenerys. He was shocked at how instinctual it felt. Her father’s mien seemed to lurk beneath her surface. She could sit the Iron Throne; Jaime knew it in his bones. Barristan Selmy stood stoically beside her, along with her scribe and more than enough Unsullied to turn Jaime into a pincushion should he cough funny.

“Thank you, Your Grace, for agreeing to hear me out.”

“I am but a young girl, and young girls are known for their curiosity. Please do not try my patience.”

_Please do not insult my intelligence_ , Jaime might have said. The ‘young girl’ act fooled precisely no one, surely. After all, this young girl had conquered three major cities and laid waste to the economy of an entire region before the mighty Seven Kingdoms could reunify one rebellious province.

“As Your Grace knows, my wife and I were sent to Essos to evaluate the state of your forces. We traveled city to city down the coast from Braavos, hearing much and more about you. Naturally, as we got closer, the rumors got truer and more detailed. We’ve heard all about Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen.” This was playing rather fast and loose with the truth; most of what they knew about Slaver’s Bay came from Pod’s spying within the pyramid. However, his sources weren’t going to be important if he could convince her to adopt his analysis.

“We understand that Astapor is in danger of falling and seeks an alliance with you. They are afraid, and rightly so, that Yunkai is marching to attack them and sack the city. Yunkai will indeed do this, and then they will come here. Meereen is the most powerful of the cities on Slaver’s Bay. It has high, thick walls. You have an impressive army on hand. Rather than attack directly, the Yunkish will surely lay siege, poison your wells, cut off your trade routes, and wait for starvation and disease to bring down your government.

“You have internal threats as well, from a group known as the Sons of the Harpy. Young nobles who resent the loss of status and income from their families’ slave trading, most likely. They will slowly eat you alive from within while the Yunkish mercenaries wait for you outside the gates.”

“Would you advice for or against an alliance with Astapor?”

“Against. Your forces would outnumber theirs five to one. You could perhaps save their city, but then the Yunkish would still come here. However many men you send to Astapor will be that many less to defend Meereen. No, of those two choices, the wiser would be to let Astapor fall while allowing them to inflict at least some damage on the Yunkish before they arrive at your doorstep.”

“If I am not mistaken, you have a third option in mind.”

“Astutely reasoned, Your Grace. You have chanced upon an astonishing bit of luck in having Captain Greyjoy arrive in your harbor with dozens of longships. Between her and your other forces, you have scores more galleys, cogs, caravels, and so forth. I say, load up the ships-”

“You would have me abandon Meereen!”

“This city is quicksand, Your Grace. You’ll be trapped here for years trying to get it in order, assuming you withstand the siege. Even those who pretend to be your allies are actively fighting you from within every step of the way. There’s no reason for them to stop unless you capitulate towards them politically.”

“You’re trying to trick me into sailing for Westeros before my forces are properly prepared.”

“Westeros? Gods, no. I thought you wanted to do something about slavery.”

“Explain. Now.”

“I propose you load up your ships, every ship even the ones not suitable for crossing the Narrow Sea. Load them with your soldiers and all the people you’ve freed from slavery, and sail for Volantis.”

“Vo-lan-tis,” she said slowly, trying it out.

“They have a sizable navy, but they’ll not be prepared for fire-breathing dragons. They do truly breathe fire, yes?”

The queen affirmed with a quick jerk of her head.

“Between the dragons and the Ironborn, you’ll make quick work of their fleet. You beach your soldiers in their dock and have them head straight for a few strategic areas. Within the day, most likely, the city will fall. Not bloodlessly, not by a long shot, but far easier than you think. There are many more slaves than freedmen, and many more freedman than true citizens. Currently, only those of the blood of Old Valyria can ever have a say in how the city is run. This causes great resentment. Even freedmen are forever marked with tattoos of their slave caste. I saw firsthand that the Red Temple is encouraging its followers – almost all of whom are slaves – to support you.” Jaime’s formality started to fade away as he became caught up in his enthusiasm for the plan. Selmy and the leader of the Unsullied also leaned forward in interest, so it began to feel like a real war council.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. Once you’ve taken the city, let passions cool a bit. Perhaps appoint two local nobles to act as triarchs with you. That’s not how it’s supposed to be done, but so few people are qualified to vote that the vast majority of the city won’t realize it. After a very short while, they will support you. All of them. You are the blood of Old Valyria for the nobles and Mhysa for the slaves.

“I expect you’ll want to abolish slavery right away, and I certainly won’t disagree, but first you need to have a system in place to unwind the practice softly. For instance, let slaves keep the tools of their employment, or establish guilds so that they can appoint someone to handle organization. Masters should be provided some compensation for the loss of their property, both items and persons.”

“No, you go too far there.”

“Oh, you won’t miss it. You can pay it from the treasury of Meereen that will be sailing with you. That’s the Dothraki way, right? Loot a city and move on. More importantly, it will keep you from making a new city full of enemies. Give them, say, two years worth of the slaves’ salaries. They can hire them right back if they want. Many will. A lot of these slaves are tutors or nannies that have been with their owner’s families for generations. The relationship doesn’t have to turn toxic if you’re careful.”

“Or, the owners could use the money to buy more slaves.”

“No! Slaver’s Bay is already in chaos. Right now, demand for slaves is high because the source is disrupted. The cities of Slaver’s Bay are fighting you so hard because you’re costing them lots of money. But, Braavos and Pentos already ban slavery. If Volantis joins, then the demand for slaves plummets. This is how you break them. When their biggest buyer, Volantis, no longer wants their goods, they’ll have to make some tough choices.

“They’ll probably try to counter attack first, but it won’t be easy. They’d have to either raise a fleet to sail to Volantis, or march overland through the Demon Roads. Your fleet will be freed up by then to fight any threats by sea, and the ruins of Valyria will take care of most of the marchers. They won’t try many times before they decide to stop throwing their limited funds into sending mercenary armies after you.”

“In the meantime, once you consolidate power in Volantis, you can organize armies to send north to the other cities still supporting slavery. One by one they’ll fall, and you’ll gain troops every time from former slave soldiers. By the time you get to the northern ones, Braavos will probably join you. Some of them most likely won’t even fight; they’ll just agree to abolish slavery so as not to be sacked. The more cities that abolish slavery, the less buyers for Slaver’s Bay, the less powerful they become. Slavery will be reduced to an area in Central Essos, and you’ll have reunited the Free Cities for the first time since Old Valyria.”

Daenerys huddled with her advisers, and they spoke in rapid-fire Valyrian. Jaime couldn’t understand them, but he didn’t need to. He had her. Perhaps more importantly, he had Selmy. That Selmy was interested showed Jaime he hadn’t lost his mind. It was always a possibility worth considering.

Queen Daenerys turned back to face Jaime. “What do you see as your role in this?”

“I am, at present, subject entirely to Your Grace’s whims. I am willing to take any position you see fit. For preference, I’d like to lead the assault on the Black Wall. It will be the hardest slog through the city, but the most satisfying target. Wherever I am, though, I hope Your Grace will allow my wife to be by my side. We take care of each other. Both of us will fight better if we can be sure of the other’s well being.”

Selmy’s face went through several contortions. He knew Ser Jaime to have an inappropriate sense of humor, but he seemed to be serious. “Your Grace, obviously we should keep the woman away from the battlefield.”

“What of Yara Greyjoy? Is she not a woman?” Daenerys asked. As with her bloodriders, occasionally Daenerys liked to remind Selmy that women were capable leaders.

“The Ironborn are different.”

“My wife is also different. She’s a knight, every bit as sworn and anointed as you or me.”

“Surely not!” Selmy didn’t often let his emotions show, but this shook the foundations of his most sacred institution. “Who sanctioned such a travesty?”

“King Tommen.”

“He’s a child. What did she do to earn the honor? Get one of his kittens down from a tree?”

“She rescued Princess Myrcella from a Dornish plot that could have cost her her life. She killed four conspirators, including Ser Arys of the King’s Guard, in the same battle I got this lovely mark.” Jaime pointed at his healed scar and missing chunk of ear. “You don’t have to like it, but don’t say she didn’t deserve it.” Well, that had to count as keeping his promise to Brienne, with a satisfying dollop of defending her honor thrown in for good measure.

Daenerys had been listening to some sound only she could hear. Jaime had time to fear that she heard intangible voices before a deep thud sounded from above. For the first time, Jaime saw Daenerys smile.

“Drogon has come back to me. We will leave for Volantis as soon as we can load the ships. Drogon and I will attack by air, Greyjoy by sea, and Ser Jaime, you and your wife will lead my vanguard.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I need to make real choices between book and show continuity. Where they contradict, I'm going to have to start coming down on the side of the show, because I'm not a red priestess and some plots are off book at this point. In particular (mild spoilers for BOOKS, mainly plots that I'm not going to do):
> 
> _Yara vs. Euron_ – In the books, Yara  & Theon are a prisoners of Stannis, and Euron sent his brother Victarion to meet with Daenerys while he raided the west coast of Westeros. I'm sticking mainly with the show here where Yara and Theon escaped to Dany, there is no Victarion, and Euron is raiding Westeros and building up his fleet.
> 
> _Aegon Targaryen_ – We're not 100% sure, but the assumption is this character has been combined with Jon Snow. I doubt the show will introduce him in the last 6 episodes, so I'm going to carry on with this combination. Honestly, he just muddles things up too much. (And invading armies need to stay the hell away from Tarth).
> 
> _Quentyn Martell_ \- He's alive since he hadn't reached Meereen before I changed things.


	34. Volantis III - Surprise Return

Brienne felt properly dressed for the first time in a long while. She wore an undertunic, boiled leather, chain mail, and plate – her own plate that had been presented as tribute to Daenerys. It had all been returned along with Oathkeeper, once again buckled at her waist. She felt like herself again, finally. She stood straighter and even imaged her vision was clearer. Jaime was similarly attired, and she enjoyed watching him prepare for battle, eyes sharp and alive.

Yara climbed around the _Black Wind_ checking the security of every last line and hatch. Soon they’d fight their way into the harbor of Volantis, the richest city in all of Essos. Her longship held a division of Unsullied in its depths, eerily quiet and well-behaved for soldiers. She was to discharge her passengers, along with Sers Brienne and Jaime, and then lead her own men onto other ships in the harbor to prevent reinforcements. She couldn’t deny that her blood was up; she kept fingering the axes at her belt in anticipation. Her eyes gleamed as the harbor came into view.

Yara saw Jaime heading in Brienne’s direction and stepped in front of him. “Quick word of advice, pinch your wife’s ass every once in awhile.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jaime had been concentrating on final battle plans, so the Ironborn’s words threw him for a mental loop.

“I’m just sayin’, do it or somebody else will.”

“Keep your hands off my wife!” He knew he’d seen some appraising looks coming Brienne’s way from Queen Axe-face here. He was grateful for how she’d helped Brienne on the voyage to Meereen, and Brienne had said they’d gotten along well. He just hoped Brienne hadn’t been, shall we say, overly appreciative.

“God, you dummies deserve each other. One more time: make her feel like you want to fuck her.”

“I think I do that when I’m fucking her,” he growled. They’d fucked every night of the journey. Frankly, given the close quarters, the captain could hardly have missed it.

“Other times too! Not just when you’re doing your duty. Like, right now, go stick your hand down her…up her…how many layers has she got on underneath that plate?”

“Three.”

“Well, tell her you want to anyway. She needs to hear it. You might not get another chance, dumbass.”

“Right,” he said, confused. What had happened between this woman and his wife? Perhaps they had engaged in a different form of intimacy and talked about their feelings while they were together. Jaime grinned sarcastically. It seemed absurd to imagine the two warrior women chatting about love. Maybe they’d embroidered hearts onto pillows like Cersei used to, as well. Suddenly, a clarifying thought wiped the smile off his face. He’d been Brienne’s closest friend for a while now, but could she really tell him if she needed him to show more affection? He’d have to remedy that right away.

Jaime strode over to Brienne and gripped her firmly around the waist, turning her to face him. “I can’t wait to have you…when this is over.”

“Huh?” She’d thought he was going to say ‘fighting by my side again.’ It had been a while since their last battle together at the Greenblood…but that wasn’t what he’d said.

“When this is over, we’re going to find the first flat place and fuck like Ironborn while the city burns around us.”

“Oh. You’ve – you’ve got a deal.” Well, that was new since Dorne. Brienne felt pinkness rising on her cheeks. It was certainly an additional good reason to stay alive through today.

 

The Ironborn clustered on the decks of their ships, eager for battle to be joined. They leaned into the wind as if encouraging their longships to travel faster. However, Daenerys’ dragons were destined to get in the first strike. They dove from the sky, unseen and unsuspected to attack the most heavily armed galleons of the Volantis navy. The ships exploded as the dragonfire hit them, the water inside their boards flashing to steam in an instant. Riding Drogon, the largest of her dragons, Daenerys directed their gouts of flame so that every Volantene ship had at least its sails ablaze.

Yara regretted having to pass by such helpless, unmaneuverable targets, but her foremost mission was to get her troops safely into the harbor. Besides, there’d be so much loot they’d need one of those elephants to carry it once the city fell, she reminded herself. As soon as she lowered the gangplank, Jaime and Brienne ran ashore, with duplicate battle cries and exuberant attacks guaranteed to draw the attention of the defenders. _Those two. God. What could you do with them? They have me rooting for Lannisters. Mental, every one of us._

The Unsullied marched ashore with due speed in perfect formation. As soon as their feet hit the cobblestones, they spread out to slowly envelop the harbor. Yara noticed that many of the dock workers were caught by surprise. Instead of defending their territory, however, they largely evacuated the area. If that was any indication, the invasion would go well. After all, how many slaves – to say nothing of freedmen – would be willing to sacrifice their lives to defend their master’s or employer’s property?

Jaime and Brienne regrouped their troops, discovering that the harbor incursion had resulted in an astonishing zero casualties for them. Technically they were advisers for this mission, brought along for their knowledge of the city. The true leader of the Unsullied was a spiky capped gentleman with the curious name of Grey Worm. He spoke a bit of the common tongue, whereas most of the other Unsullied did not. Jaime and Brienne had come to rely on Pod’s facility with Valyrian. His stutter may make him seem slow, but he’d actually absorbed the intricacies of the language within weeks. Despite his ardent objection, he remained in a caravel full of civilians anchored far out at in the Summer Sea. Jaime and Brienne hadn’t fought hard against this decision. Even aside from the danger, the sack of a city like Volantis, with its long-standing resentment between social classes, would feature brutalities that could haunt the boy’s nightmares for years.

 

The first of their objectives loomed into view. The Grand Temple of R’hllor kept torches burning in its plaza day and night. Brienne had mixed feelings about the faith. It enabled Stannis’ assassination of Renly and endorsed human sacrifice, but it had also shown her true visions of the future. Unlike the more quiescent Seven, the Red God acted with real power in the world. Brienne was just unsure whether he was a god deserving of worship. In this particular instance, any hope of winning the city seemed to lie in embracing the alliance. The support they’d noticed for Daenerys during their previous visit seemed to stem largely from the Red Temple. Fire called to fire, she supposed.

A rough cheer went up as they marched into the courtyard. They had expected at least some token resistance, but saw instead a yard full of eager warriors. A formidable division of men stood ready, dressed in ornate armor with flame designs on their orange cloaks matching the tattoos on their faces. They carried large shields decorated with the flame emblem of R’hllor and spears tipped with points shaped as writhing flames.

A tall, thin man wearing the red robes of a priest stepped forward. His face was so heavily covered in flame tattoos that his features could barely be distinguished. Even his eyelids were marked. “Warriors of Light from afar, we greet and welcome you. I am Benerro, high priest of this temple. I saw your coming in the flames and have prepared well for this day. I present to you, the 1000 warriors of the Fiery Hand, R’hllor’s personal defenders. Another 5000 of R’hllor’s most devoted stand ready to fight alongside them.”

Jaime felt his balls contract even though these men were on his side. A huge army had been building in the city right under everyone’s nose. He’d heard tales of the Fiery Hand, superbly trained guardians of iron disciple. The supplemental troops were less well equipped but had the gleam of fervor in their eyes. This invasion would proceed more swiftly than he’d thought, with the potential for crushing, blinding violence.

 

Jaime and Brienne led their motley mixture of troops through sorties in the city to arrive at the Long Bridge to the Black Walls. The Long Bridge proved a challenge to traverse in an orderly fashion. It was so narrowed by the encroachment of shops that the Unsullied could not march in their accustomed formations. They reconfigured, but did not like the change, judging their front line too narrow. The Fiery Hand soldiers were more familiar with guarding than marching, so they soon began to slow and tire in their heavy armor. Some of the Red Temple volunteers could not resist a spot of looting as they passed by the jewelers and spice shops along the bridge whose guards had deserted.

At the midpoint of the bridge, a mass of heads had been arranged into a disordered pile. Usually, this area was for the public display of a few criminal’s heads (or hands in the case of thieves) as a warning to others. The past week, however, had apparently featured an abundance of executions. Almost all the heads bore slave tattoos, Jaime noticed. The leaders of the city must have sensed something was coming and thought chipping off a few pebbles could stop the avalanche.

Finally reaching the end of the Long Bridge, Jaime called for the soldiers to spread out rather than march straight for the Black Walls. He’d known all along that this would be the toughest nut in the city to crack. The Walls were 200 feet high and dozens of feet thick, made of fused stone, slick as glass but hard as diamond. They’d not dig through or climb over; they’d have to make a run at the gate. Even from the bridge, he could see that the top of the wall bristled with archers. These men were surely hired mercenaries rather than slaves. The gate appeared study and firmly barred, but significantly, it was not made of fused stone.

Brienne organized those soldiers who lacked shields into teams to construct and wield battering rams. They used whatever materials they could find in the square. Headless statues were plentiful, as were benches and abandoned merchant carts. Jaime positioned the Unsullied, Fiery Hand, and others with shields into an overlapping defensive line to protect those running with the rams from the archers firing on them from above.

Even with the overlapping shields, many arrows found their marks that day. Their troops died by the hundreds as they broke ram after ram against the gates. Jaime waited impatiently near the entrance for the next group of Brienne’s runners to arrive. He looked back down the line to see her standing exposed with her mouth hanging open. No arrows headed her way, however. None even rained down at the gates. All the archers were now aiming at the sky.

He felt a blast of heat even on the ground, 200 feet below. The top of the Walls were ablaze, and each torch was a burning body. Jaime could not see the queen, only the black, expansive underbelly of the dragon. Arrows bounced harmlessly off its hide as it swept around for another pass. The archers began to scatter and try to shoot on the move, but they soon saw that their efforts were useless. Jaime watched as the seasoned mercenaries broke, having no idea how to fight or even surrender to such a force.

The second gout of dragonfire chased the Wall’s remaining defenders away. Already weakened, the gate soon yielded to the battering ram’s assault. Thousands of troops – slaves, freedmen, or foreigners all – poured into Old Volantis where their presence had always been forbidden.

 

Jaime and Brienne were grateful that the bulk of their forces had been trained in conditions of merciless discipline. Ironborn, or really any Westerosi army, would have scattered like cats eager to loot and pillage such a refined area as Old Volantis. The Unsullied and Fiery Hand merely reorganized themselves into defensive formations and waited for orders.

“Bring us the triarchs,” Jaime demanded over and over. Once his demand was translated into Valyrian, a few runners could be seen sprinting down the alleyways. When Drogon landed atop the tallest building in the Old City and roared defiance into the sky, many more citizens could be heard arguing about how best to draw out their leaders.

Malaquo Maegyr, the sole tiger triarch became the first to show himself before the conquering army and their queen. He was now an old man, but had once been a commander and still walked as if backed up by an army. Tigers tended to favor resolving disputes by the use of force, and Malaquo was rumored to have been in the process of plotting an attack on Daenerys’ seat in Meereen. He took a knee before Daenerys but did not appear broken in spirit.

An elephant triarch, Doniphos Paenymion arrived next, also under his own power. The elephants favored addressing disputes through negotiation and mercantile strength. Doniphos, in particular, had counseled against war with Daenerys assuming that her inability to harness her region’s resources (slaves) would result in economic collapse. Most citizens had concluded he would not be returned as triarch in the upcoming election, so the conquest represented a political second wind for him. He greeted the queen obsequiously, doing his best to convince her that he had long been an ally.

The final triarch, elephant Nyessos Vhassar, had to be carried into the square by a mob of citizens. At the last council meeting, he had presented plans for an alliance with Yunkai to attack Meereen on two fronts. All knew that, despite being an elephant, he had been the most fervent in favor of war against Daenerys. Ironically, his failure to underestimate her proved to be his undoing.

Daenerys consulted briefly with her local experts, but the manner in which the triarchs had presented themselves really told her all she needed to know. She announced to the surrounding citizens that the next triarchy would consist of elephant Doniphos, tiger Malaquo, and dragon Daenerys. It was understood that in councils, much like the “election,” the dragon’s vote was the only one that truly counted.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jaime grabbed Brienne’s wrist playfully. He caught her a bit off-balance and had to reel her into his arms to ensure she didn’t fall.

“The Old City is pacified. Don’t you think we need to find a place to quarter our soldiers?” she asked, making no effort to squirm free.

“I think that’s Grey Worm’s job. Besides, the roof of this building looks plenty flat to me.”

Brienne's eyes darted between the gate of the Black Walls and the doorway of the tall building, clearly torn between responsibility and lust. “I suppose it does.” She grinned and broke free to make a sudden dash for the stairs. Jaime gave chase.

They pounded up the stairs to the roof of the deserted debate chamber, Jaime feeling much younger than his years. Whether it had been the battle or the enthusiasm on Brienne’s face he couldn’t say, but his heart hadn’t leapt like this in ages.

From their vantage point atop the building, they could see fires beginning to spread in the lower city. Most of the Old City was made of stone, so they had relatively few worries here about burning alive while distracted. A smoky haze had begun to float in the air, turning the sunset into magnificent hues of pink, purple, and red.

“Look good to you?” Jaime asked.

The roof was bare of any ornamentation and made of stone, but that was better than rubble. Brienne wasn’t overwhelmingly picky at the moment. “Should do. Like the Ironborn, huh? I wonder who put that idea in your head.”

“Everyone has a few notions worth trying out,” he said, as he began to unbuckle her gear.

“I want to leave it on. It makes me feel strong,” Brienne said of her breastplate. “Let’s just do the bottoms.”

Jaime didn’t think her strength was ever in doubt, but fine, whatever worked for her. Doffing the armor without help would take more time than he wanted to wait anyway. He would miss her breasts, though. They were small and nothing to send a raven about in appearance, but so sensitive. He loved the helplessly joyous sounds she made when he put his mouth to them. Double next time, he promised himself. He roughly yanked down her pants, breeches, and smallclothes before tending to his own disrobing.

Brienne knew that their future remained uncertain. They still needed to learn what Queen Daenerys intended for them now that the invasion has been successful. It didn’t matter in this moment, though. This was perfect. She’d never gone straight from battle to sex before, but now she could see the appeal. Jaime barely needed to touch her at all before she was ready. He settled in between her thighs and rode her without inhibition. Brienne breathed heavily, taking in the savory scents of the burning city. Home, home, home, each of his long strokes seemed to say. So long as they were together it was true; always, even here. She felt her peak drawing close and lifted up, taking him in deep as she could. He groaned as their hips ground together. Her ragged cries became lost in the countless screams and cheers of the newly conquered city. His sharper, passionate yawp signified a triumphant conclusion to a world-changing day.

 


	35. Volantis IV - An Empire Rises

In the days after Daenerys captured Volantis, the city changed but did not truly fall. The more wealthy areas, especially Old Volantis within its Black Walls, remained almost pristine. The blood of Old Valyria, at first rendered nonplussed by the dragon attack, soon recognized that they had been spared the worst of the atrocities. The more cunning among them reached out to Daenerys proposing alliances and promising to deliver blocks of supporters. Daenerys and her advisers kept their responses vague, wanting to make sure that hostilities had ceased before opening new areas of contention.

The heaviest fighting had been in the lower- and middle-tier merchant sections. For many families there, the social status of being above slaves was their proudest asset. They fought to protect their businesses and to prevent themselves from potentially slipping to the very bottom of the city’s hierarchy. They knew the city’s territory best, however, they were hopelessly outclassed in terms of weapons and training. The discipline of the Unsullied allowed them to subdue each area, street by hard-won street.

Emerging from the safety of the Black Walls, Brienne noted with relief that most of the key areas of the city still functioned in a state of tentative order. Merchants continued to sell food, wine, and other necessities unimpeded. Even a few of the less essential businesses, like clothiers or brothels, had reopened. On a personal note, Brienne was pleased to find that the Merchant’s House, the inn where she and Jaime previously stayed, had survived the fires. She may never see the inside of the place again, but she’d always have fond memories of what happened there.

She and Jaime were at liberty within the city, though the queen had clearly stated that they weren’t to leave. Today, they would get a sense of the lives lost and make plans to mitigate the damage done during the invasion. Daenerys would be meeting all day with city leaders, listening to their concerns. Brienne strongly suspected that those leaders could save their breath for all the influence they could expect to make on the majority of issues, slavery most especially.

“Nice work yesterday,” Jaime said, putting an arm over her shoulders so that the metal of their armor clanked together.

“What, the fighting? I did almost nothing,” she said modestly.

“Yes, the…fighting,” Jaime replied. Brienne couldn’t feel it, but she was fairly sure his hand had moved onto her ass. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her since they’d come to Volantis. It was exhilarating.

“The queen will see us tomorrow morning,” she informed him while returning the gesture.

“Wonderful, after she’s had an earful of Volantene nobles today. Should put her in a splendid mood. Hopefully it won’t occur to her that we’re the ones who trapped her here.”

“Better here than Meereen, right?”

“Well…” he tilted his head side to side in consideration. “Here she’ll make real progress. She can achieve small victories that lead to larger successes down the line. The politics will trip her up, though. She’ll be here a year before she even figures out which families can’t be seated next to one another. Still, her pride will keep her at it, for a long time if we’re lucky. She may well conquer this continent, but it will take her decades. If she’d stayed in Meereen, probably she would have gotten frustrated and left within a couple of years.

“She could have come straight to Westeros; she just doesn’t know her own strength and our present weaknesses. Between the Dothraki, the Ironborn, her fiercely loyal former slaves, and especially the dragons, we couldn’t have held out long. Westeros is too divided right now. Perhaps we bought ourselves enough time.”

 

“Your Grace,” Jaime knelt. Brienne carefully copied him. This was her first time meeting Daenerys in anything like cordial circumstances. Another night had passed without major incident, and more of Volantis was starting to return to business as usual. Daenerys had modified the triarch meeting chamber into an impromptu throne room. Technically Volantis was still a triarchy, but at present only one ebony bench occupied the floor.

“Jaime and Brienne Lannister, you were the architects behind the Volantis strategy, and all accounts say that you both fought valiantly to carry it out.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jaime said. Brienne repeated it a beat later.

“My thanks also to you. Now that the city is under my control, what would you have me do with you?”

“We only wish to return home, Your Grace. Let us find passage to Westeros once the harbor has reopened,” Jaime said. “Perhaps we could even serve as diplomats for you there if you have need.”

“No, that I cannot allow. You know too much of my strengths and strategies to return to Westeros.”

Jaime tried not to show his discouragement. He dared hope for a moment that she would feel enough gratitude for what they had brought about to grant this simple request. He should have known she would never show him any mercy. Now his only goal was to remind her, again, that Brienne should not be punished for his misdeeds.

“I bow to your judgment. My wife, however, has not seen her father in some time.”

Brienne would have hit him with her full strength had they not been kneeling before the queen. The substitute death glare emanating from her huge eyes communicated her point so clearly that the queen had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“I do not take Lady Brienne for a delicate flower wilting without the sustenance of her father. In fact, I would name her a commander in my army. Ser Selmy saw her leadership in the field and admits that he erred in doubting her skill. However, he cautions me not to trust you, Ser Jaime. You surely understand his skepticism. Why would a man whose nephew sits the Iron Throne, who killed his king, my father, why should such a man be allowed to walk freely in my city?”

“Because this wasn’t about you,” Brienne said angrily. Jaime shot her an alarmed glance. Surely she knew better than to talk about the strategy of delaying Daenerys for the benefit of Westeros.

“Oh?”

“It was for the city. The people,” Brienne said. “When we were here before, we could tell that Volantis was on the verge of slave riots already. The election surely would have pushed them over the edge, however it went. You were a means to satisfy the pent up rage of the slaves without tens of thousands of people having to die.

“We planned the Volantis strategy to be a mad dash toward the Black Walls so that the leaders would surrender to you quickly. Once you had the Old City, we knew we could send the Unsullied out to quiet unrest elsewhere. When the Fiery Hand joined us, it worked out even better. The whole idea was to take the city without destroying it. That’s why the Dothraki were kept outside the main walls.”

“Why would you care for the denizens of a city you barely knew?” Daenerys asked.

“A knight’s duty is to protect the weak, and we could see that this city was nothing but weak people being exploited by a few strong ones. Every day the rich grew richer off the backs of the slaves and the slaves grew more desperate. Sooner rather than later, a spark was bound to set off devastating riots,” Brienne said. She hoped she hadn’t misjudged Jaime’s ability to understand what he needed to do. Daenerys would never begin to trust him until they addressed the root of their problem. He still stared without comprehension, however. “Jaime, tell her. Tell her about the other city that almost burned.”

Jaime swallowed, finally realizing to what end Brienne had steered the conversation. Talking about that day had been impossible before Brienne’s cleansing acceptance and was only a notch or two easier now. No matter how necessary he knew his actions to be, how sure he’d make the same decision if presented with the same circumstances, it still had been a betrayal of his most fundamental oaths. Perhaps now it had also become the only way to earn his freedom.

“Your father was not a well man. Even before my appointment to the King’s guard, his cruelty and paranoia were widely known at court. Over time, they grew stranger and worse. He abused his wife the most, but also his servants and his children. Even his small council,” Jaime continued, speaking about the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, the events leading to Robert’s Rebellion, and the fateful decision to allow the Lannister army into the city.

By the time he was done, the queen’s lips were a thin, white line. “My Father would have made his capitol his funeral pyre?”

“He…I believe he thought it would be the birthing bed for his transcendence. He expected to rise anew as a dragon. He just…didn’t care about the rest of the city that would burn with him. The people, the buildings, the land – he felt it was all his to do with as he pleased. He would not listen to reason. I believe in following a king – or a queen – but I also believe that the ruler has responsibilities to his subjects. That he should try to protect them, to better their lives.

“I slew your father because he was unrecoverably mad. I cannot apologize for it. He had forsaken all love for his people and even his family in the end. His death saved the lives of thousands upon thousands of people I had never met. Your presence here, I believe, has done the same. I find it a beautiful symmetry.”

A Dothraki scout rode into the triarch chamber, his mount’s shoes kicking up sparks on the stone floor. He relayed a message to the queen’s handmaiden who ran to whisper it to her. Daenerys looked grateful to have a chance to consider something other than her father’s transgressions.

“We can resume this discussion another time. For now, Lady Brienne, you may continue in my service. I will leave your husband at liberty under your surety. There is an army marching from Selhorys that will arrive within the hour. My main force will engage them to the north of the city. You will direct a thousand Unsullied in defense of our rear flank.”

Daenerys nodded their dismissal, calling forth other commanders for more extensive strategic planning.

 

Brienne and Jaime scrambled to prepare, finding horses for themselves and armor for Pod. By the time they arrived at the designated area north of the city, they could see the Dothraki already in motion. The horselords rode in wild, unpredictable patterns before the enemy had even shown themselves. Their undulating war cries were the stuff of nightmares. Neither of the Westerosi knights had seen the Dothraki in battle before and underrated their potential due to their savagery and lack of discipline.

When the enemy appeared over the horizon, the Dothraki showed themselves to be first competent, then skilled, then terrifying warriors. Their razor-sharp arakhs tore through the Selhoryan lines, and they recklessly threw themselves from horseback to kill an enemy and capture his horse. Jaime had never seen any Westerosi force fight with so little regard for their own lives. He felt a cold chill go down his spine as he realized that the closest comparison would be the Unsullied, also Daenerys’ men.

Brienne noticed a line of heavily armored Selhoryan horsemen assembling on a nearby hill. They could ride in to flank and disrupt the city defenders if she didn’t prepare for them. With Pod’s assistance, she instructed the Unsullied to take a defensive formation and set their spears to receive charge. As usual, they followed their orders without hesitation, assembling into a firm line in the face of a foe that would have most knights quaking in their boots.

Brienne saw strange shadows on the ground and looked up. All three dragons were in the sky. She’d only seen the largest before, the one the queen rode. Bringing out all three against Selhorys should make a statement if there were any survivors to report it.

Jaime pulled Pod to the side. “I know this is your first battle. Fear is natural; acknowledge it and move on. Don’t let it paralyze you. But also, don’t try to earn your spurs in one battle. Remember, you’re here to make sure she has what she needs. You watch over her; she shouldn’t have to watch over you.”

“I understand S-S-Ser.”

“Good lad. Do her proud.”

Jaime prepared to mount up and ride into position, but Brienne’s voice stopped him. It sounded nothing like her usual command voice, much more quiet and awed.

“No, Jaime. Stay back. I remember…I recognize…This is it! The dragon attack I saw in the flames. She’s going to come down on those men with dragonfire. It will melt them like they’re made of spun sugar. It’s not – do you understand? – it’s not in Westeros. It’s here, right now!”

“Everyone down! Get behind your shields!” she yelled, demonstrating for those who didn’t speak common.

Jaime dragged Pod beneath him as the boy stood there stunned, watching the sky. Jaime had time enough to hope she was right. Otherwise, they were going to fall under the merciless hoofbeats of a cavalry charge. The pounding sounds of the riders never came, though. Instead, a blast of heat warmed his metal shield to point that it became difficult to hold. Many of the Unsullied, who wore no gauntlets, would find blisters on their shield hands the next day.

Minutes later, deeming it safe to look, Brienne and Jaime saw the enemy in full retreat. The Dothraki were making sport of chasing down the footsoldiers, laughing at the ease with which they were dispatched. In the distance, the baggage train burned, and the dragons were presently attacking small groups of fleeing horsemen. The hill Brienne and Jaime faced was covered with the ashen remains of men and horses, mixed with the melted slag of their armor. There seemed to be no survivors of the dragonfire.

 

A terrified child approached Brienne across the battlefield. His small face was already marked with the wave tattoo that designated him a slave bound to the docks. His dark, sunken eyes made Brienne wonder if he’d eaten since Daenerys’ conquest.

“Man say he give me gold honor if I bring you back w’ me to docks,” he said.

Brienne judged that she could be excused from chasing down stragglers. They hadn’t had news from Westeros in some time, but if any arrived it would come from the docks. She followed the boy through the gates of the city and into a twisting array of shortcuts to arrive at the harbor. He led her toward one of the slips for smaller ships where she saw a familiar face. She tipped the boy every honor in her purse as she approached the ship, mouth open in surprise.

“Lady Tarth,” Ser Davos said, “I understand you might want something, or a couple of somethings, smuggled out of Volantis.”

For just a moment, Brienne thought of turning him away. She could imagine staying in Essos with Jaime, avoiding all the problems awaiting them in Westeros. They could make a happy life here, fighting for the worthy cause of helping Daenerys end slavery. Perhaps the Dragon Queen would even find the Valyrian empire satisfying enough never to venture to Westeros. In that way, both she and Cersei could have what they wanted. But no. The last news they’d heard from King’s Landing made Cersei’s position sound uncertain. Jaime would never have peace of mind if they left her to her fate. Brienne didn’t suppose she’d forgive herself either if her queen was truly in danger and she turned her back on her.

“I thought you were in a much different place, Ser. What brings you here?”

“I can’t say what brings me east, but Marya’s the one who sent me south. Your boy put out the word that you were imprisoned in Meereen. My wife reminded me that I’d been in a similar position once and someone went above and beyond to help me out of it. I was on my way to Meereen to get you when I saw you very kindly decided to meet me halfway.” The part he couldn’t tell Brienne rested uneasily on his mind. Stannis had sent him to Braavos to borrow money from the Iron Bank in order to hire mercenary companies. There was so much coinage tucked away in the secret compartments of his ship that he was loathe to take aboard anyone he didn’t fully trust. That certainly included Jaime Lannister, but a debt was a debt.

“Podrick?” she whispered. “Podrick called for help?”

“Aye. Maybe we should all start training our squires with clever Imps instead of chowder-brained weapon masters. Now, are you coming aboard or not? We need to cast off before the Ironborn come back to the harbor.”

“Yes, just let me fetch Pod and…my husband,” she said. Well, the way Jaime had been behaving lately, the clever old rogue would figure it out very, very quickly anyway.

 


	36. King's Landing XIV - Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this ran so long. I trimmed it as much as seemed reasonable, but there was a lot to catch up on and no natural stopping points. We’ll get into more detail on other plots over the next few chapters.

Being smuggled into King’s Landing by Davos before sunrise, Brienne and Jaime had no one waiting to welcome them home. Fortunately, having left almost all their possessions behind in Volantis, they did not need to hire porters, and wearing their armor, no one bothered them. If she had free choice, Brienne would have insisted on stopping at the first inn or brothel for a bath. They’d been at sea in the same clothes for two weeks, and she could barely stand the feel of her skin, somehow both oily and crusted with salt spray. Jaime understood, but maintained that they should return to the Keep before anyone identified them.

Once properly cleaned, attired, and breakfasted, they began their inquiries. Bedding arrangements will have to change with a swiftness, Jaime realized. Podrick needed squire’s quarters; Brienne’s room should no longer be in the Maidenvault; and he might not even be Lord Commander by the end of the day. They found Tyrion in his study, already absorbed in a thick tome. Several others lay open on the desk and the surrounding floor. A half-written scroll had fallen nearby with an open inkpot treacherously balanced on the desk above.

“Brother! Can’t you take a break from your studies long enough for a greeting?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion jumped, his legs barely missing the inkpot. Tears already shone in his eyes by the time he crossed the room. “Brother, Sister! I had almost run out of hope. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t fix it.” He embraced first Brienne, then their older brother. Jaime held him for a few moments, allowing some of Tyrion’s burden to lift. “Shh, brother. We’re here now. We can help. And, look who we found!”

Jaime pushed Tyrion back so he could see Podrick.

“Podrick? I was sure you were lost,” Tyrion said wonderingly. He stroked Pod’s cheek to assure himself that he was no illusion.

“Nearly w-was, but my lady s-saved me,” Pod said proudly. Shame returned to his face as he admitted, “I n-never made it to B-Braavos, my lord.”

“Never mind that now. It doesn’t matter anymore. There are more urgent matters afoot.” Tyrion looked up into Jaime’s eyes. “Cersei has been arrested by the faith and charged with…certain crimes of which she’s probably guilty. I believe Kevan is ultimately orchestrating her trial. Both queens are now under arrest, so there is no one to challenge the Hand for control of Tommen’s regency.”

“Both queens? What happened to Margaery?” Jaime asked.

“Ah, well, that was Cersei’s doing,” Tyrion admitted. “I fear Kevan took the opportunity to piggyback onto Cersei’s plot with one of his own. I’ve been researching all the legal precedents, but I keep running into the same wall. Since the faith is responsible for the rehabilitation of souls, they can use any means short of bodily mortification to achieve their goals. Imprisonment, interrogation, deprivation from her family; all these methods are allowed so long as they do no injury to her body. I can find no limits. They can keep her confined until she confesses to everything they require.”

“It’s kind of you to help her,” Brienne noted. Tyrion would toil so hard to aid Jaime and possibly herself, Brienne knew, but Cersei? She was pleasantly surprised.

Tyrion chuckled. “More like enemy of my enemy is my friend. I’ve just had a taste of Kevan’s ambition. I need Cersei to help me cut him off before his rapidly spreading bottom ends up on the Iron Throne.”

 

Tyrion told Jaime that the Hand of the King no longer accepted requests for meetings from his nephew. However, he could hardly turn away the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard, freshly returned from a mission abroad. Jaime and Brienne left Podrick visiting with Tyrion and accosted Ser Kevan in his office. Brienne had to admit that Tyrion’s insight, while rarely encouraging, was always accurate. Kevan had gained weight, dressed more richly, and adopted a more officious mien since being named Hand. Apparently he no longer felt satisfied being known as Tywin’s most trusted lackey.

After perfunctory greetings, Jaime said, “I received your letter of about a month ago. You stated that all was well in King’s Landing, and yet when I return, I learn my sister was arrested around that time. Can you shed some light on this?”

“Yes, Queen Cersei has been arrested. By all accounts, the realm is functioning more smoothly without her. The High Septon will convene her trial and determine what sort of punishment she deserves once he’s finished his interrogations.”

“What are the charges?”

“At first, fornication with a King’s Guard. Now that the faith has questioned her, thus far they have further charges of incest and homosexuality.” He let his gaze rest first on Jaime then on Brienne.

Jaime knew how to counter this. Cersei confessed to him that she had taken their cousin Lancel to bed while Jaime was a prisoner of Catelyn Stark. Since Lancel joined the Warrior’s Sons, they had prepared for him to confess this to the High Septon. All the encounters took place after Robert had died, fortunately, so they were only guilty of fornication rather than the much more serious crime of adultery. Likewise, they were first cousins, not a degree of incest generally prosecuted.

“As to what she and your son did, she regrets it, but was nearly out of her mind with grief over Robert,” Jaime said.

“And the female lover?” Kevan looked Brienne up and down as if deciding whether she counted as a woman.

“That’s not true!” Brienne protested. _Entirely. Yet._

“Cersei’s had female bedmates since she was a child. She has nightmares otherwise. It’s always been platonic,” Jaime said calmly.

“Any other sins the High Septon uncovers during interrogation are, of course, also fair game.”

“Then take us to see the High Septon. I believe it’s past time that we sorted this out.”

 

Brienne could tell from one glance that negotiating with the High Septon, or High Sparrow as many called him, would be a different game than the one to which Jaime was accustomed. The High Septon had the plain dress and manner of a true believer, much more like Septa Roelle who raised her rather than the usual King’s Landing creatures.

“These interrogations have taken well over a month. The king needs stability in this time of crisis. His mother and his wife are great comforts to him. You wouldn’t want the realm to suffer any more, surely,” Jaime said.

The High Sparrow trusted that that the Seven guided his way in all things. He knew that the actions he’d taken thus far were righteous, but the Lord Commander could summon enough men to remove the imprisoned queens by force. That would result in a bloody and scandalous bit of business on the steps of the sept. The Warrior would be in favor, and perhaps the Stranger, though one should never presume to predict His ineffable nature. However, the other gods would advise discretion. The long captivity of the queens had already demonstrated to the people that no one was above the law of the gods.

“Perhaps you have the right of it. I will see that Queen Margaery is released right away into the custody of her husband. She will still have to face trial, but she can provide him aid and comfort in the meantime.”

“And the queen mother?” Jaime asked icily.

“I will have her released as well, under the same terms, but she must perform a walk of atonement to demonstrate her sorrow for the sins she has confessed.”

“What does that entail?” Brienne asked. Jaime seemed ready to accept these terms, but she had caught whiff of a complication. Not so much from the High Septon, who seemed sincere and even kind, but from Kevan who looked all too satisfied about this turn of events.

“To demonstrate her humility and regret, she will be shorn head to toe and walk naked from the Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep.”

“No,” Brienne said implacably.

“We’ll have her guarded all the way. No harm will come to her,” Kevan said.

“No.” Brienne didn’t want to say aloud, and besides Kevan already knew, but such a display would forever destroy Cersei’s ability to wield power in the realms. She would also surely die inside, as year after year, her power faded from memory but the mocking taunts continued behind her back.

“What of Margaery?” Jaime asked. “Why does she not have to make this walk?”

“She has confessed no crimes. I cannot assign her penance when there’s been no remorse.”

“So because Margaery has been less cooperative, she receives less punishment?” Jaime asked incredulously.

“It is not a punishment. Once Queen Cersei performs her walk, her soul will be clean of the crimes she has already confessed. There are still other, more serious charges to face,” he warned.

“She can’t.” Brienne shook her head at Jaime. He nodded in understanding.

“Surely the Crone can find another way for her to show her repentance,” Jaime said. He was opening the door for requests of bribery, either in the form of splendors for the church or personal pleasures. However, the High Septon did not seem inclined to step through it.

“Bodily mortification,” Brienne suggested.

“What?” Jaime asked, alarmed.

“The faith may not inflict bodily harm as punishment for sin. What if we convinced the king to lift that restriction? Perhaps allowing a septon to sentence up to seven lashes for a sin,” she suggested. “Such a policy only applying to sins committed after the decree is issued, so people will have fair warning,” she amended.

“You’ve never had a worse idea,” Jaime hissed.

_You have a better one?_ Brienne’s expressive eyes asked back.

The High Septon tented his hands in contemplation. Such allowances could help the faith’s mission greatly.

“I would need to see the decree before the queen mother could be released,” he said at last.

“So be it,” Brienne bowed. Jaime followed her out, desperately hoping they would not come to regret this.

 

The same servants who delivered the signed decree from King Tommen also brought a curtained litter inside the Sept of Baelor. Once the High Septon reviewed the scroll, both queens were bundled into the litter. The servants carried them, as anonymously as possible, back to the Red Keep. They did not share much conversation on the way, though each surely noted that the other had grown weaker and yet burned with fury.

An elaborate luncheon had been set for their arrival. Margaery nibbled on a scone but pled exhaustion after a few minutes and asked Tommen to escort her to their chambers. Cersei, in deliberate contrast, sat for a full hour, humbly thanking all nearby for their kind attention. She sent the leftovers to the servant’s hall to show her gratitude.

Once the crowd had dwindled to her siblings only, she thanked Jaime, Brienne, and Tyrion in a more heartfelt way. “Tyrion, sometimes one of Qyburn’s agents would visit me, and tell me of the letters and petitions you wrote on my behalf. We’ve never been close, and that is to the greater degree my fault, but thank you. And my knights, the High Sparrow would have kept breaking me down until I confessed to every sin in their sick little imaginations. You ensured that didn’t happen and protected my dignity. If there’s any favor any of you have to ask of me, this is the perfect time.”

“Now that you mention it, sister dear, could you see your way to appointing me Tommen’s Hand in place of Kevan?” Tyrion asked.

“Done!” Cersei laughed gaily. “Done and done. What of Kevan, do you think?”

“Send him off to oversee the Twins,” Tyrion suggested. “Not as lord of the manor, merely castellan. If he does a grand job, it’s all to our gain, and if he does terribly, we don’t really care.”

“And Casterly? Do you wish to leave it in Sansa’s hands?”

“I thought perhaps Aunt Genna and Uncle Emmon could manage it for a while. I’d have Sansa join me here, if she would.”

“That seems eminently reasonable. And you two?” She turned to Jaime and Brienne.

“Please don’t get mad,” Brienne said.

“Brienne, she’s not going-” Jaime began.

“Jaime and I married in Essos. We’ve been man and wife – in every way – for most of the journey.”

“Not most; about half,” Jaime corrected.

Tyrion knocked over his wine goblet as he hastened to stifle his gasping laughter.

“I see. Why?” Cersei asked. There were spots of red high on her cheeks, but she seemed perfectly calm.

“Love,” Jaime replied simply.

“Love,” Brienne confirmed, restraining herself from pleading ‘completely by accident, please don’t hurt us’ like she wanted. Surely Jaime knew best what his sister would like to hear.

“Well. Seems that I’ll have to ask Tommen to issue another proclamation so that his Lord Commander can keep this position. Tell me you saw Ser Selmy in Daenerys’ court. I’ll do it just so word can reach him that for all his mooning over Ashara Dayne, you have the wife he never could.”

“He was indeed there, and he did discover that we’re married,” Jaime confirmed.

“Well, that is good to hear,” Cersei said donning one of her crueler smiles. “I will see Tommen about Tyrion’s appointment and Jaime’s decree. We should be able to start setting matters to right by evening.”

 

Cersei invited Brienne and Jaime to a private dinner in her sitting room. Kevan would soon be on his way back west without so much as a farewell feast, and Tyrion was busily rearranging his offices in the Tower of the Hand. As at lunch, Cersei ate little herself, explaining that rich food upset her stomach after living on bread and water for so long. Jaime eagerly tucked into familiar dishes he hadn’t realized he’d missed. Brienne followed along, hoping with every bite that Cersei was clever enough not to poison anyone on her first day out of confinement.

Cersei asked about the wedding and seemed genuinely amused at the circumstances. Jaime detailed the myriad strange locales where they’d made love – prison, a ship, the roof of a building – not the most comfortable discussion Brienne had ever had around a dinner table. Cersei’s cheer turned to concern on hearing about the size and loyalty of Daenerys’ forces, then again to delight at the news that they would be indefinitely delayed in Volantis. Her cheeks grew rosy as she drank cup after cup of wine.

Finally, Brienne could wait no longer to hear her side of it. “What did you do?” she demanded. “How did you end up arrested by the faith?”

“Margaery was exerting too much influence over Tommen. I needed to bring her to heel. I had the new King’s Guard, Ser Kettleblack admit to seducing her.”

“I asked about you, not her.”

“Once they started questioning him, he admitted to more than just seducing her. Specifically, to seducing me – which was no truer than it was about her. Idiot. Father always said clever minds make clever lies. I should have realized the opposite was true as well.”

“So you falsely accused her of adultery?”

“Not falsely! Grandmaester Pycelle told me he provided her with moon tea on several occasions. I may have erred in the men I mentioned as possible suspects, but she is guilty of treason.”

“The High Septon said you confessed to incest and homosexuality.”

“They kept haranguing me until I confessed to something. I figured they had to know about Lancel by now. I believe we can convince him that Lancel was my familial lover and a nameless prostitute my female one. Perhaps I should say that hiring the prostitute was the old High Septon’s idea, to keep me away from men. The new one would believe that; he thinks everyone from the old order is hopelessly corrupt.”

Brienne scowled deeply. She desired a serious, remorseful discussion, but instead Cersei (and even Jaime) seemed ready to move on to the next set of schemes without truly explaining or justifying the motives behind her present troubles.

“You do understand that you still must face trial. The High Septon alluded to other, more serious charges. You could end up banished or locked away in a septry somewhere,” Brienne warned.

“A good thing then, that my Lord Commander has returned, the finest sword in the realms. I am confident about my chances at trial.”

“You regret nothing. You would do it again tomorrow,” Brienne said softly.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. I want to celebrate tonight. I was hoping my knights would welcome me home. Together.” Cersei smiled; seductive, playful, and undeniably tempting.

“You two can do whatever you want,” Brienne said. “Honestly,” she added for Jaime’s benefit. “But, Cersei, I can’t even look at you right now.” Brienne stormed off, slamming the door of the royal chamber behind her.

 

Brienne found herself at the Tower of the Hand, and she barely even needed to question why. She usually defended Cersei when Tyrion would start to rail against her, but tonight she was in the mood to indulge. Hearing his acid tongue melt through Cersei’s defenses would finally bring some satisfaction to the evening.

“I could strangle her with my bare hands, Tyrion, I swear to the gods.”

Tyrion would generally offer to pay for a manicure afterward, but this seemed over the top for his goodsister. Cersei had called her every possible manner of names and contrived to embarrass her in a dozen small ways. Brienne had taken all that with equanimity and come back for more. Why would she be murderously upset at Cersei turning her schemes toward someone else?

“Now, now. Let’s try to keep our treasonous threats light and non-specific. Why are you so angry?”

“Because she tried to frame an innocent girl! Am I going mad? Am I the only one who thinks that’s wrong?”

“She tried to frame a Tyrell; let’s not go overboard with ‘innocent girl’. A Tyrell whose power was beginning to cut into her own, by the way. It was to be expected; it’s how the game is played.”

“You’re defending her!? You?” Disappointment lurked around every corner for Brienne this evening.

“I’m just saying I’m not surprised. It’s her nature. I’m rather more concerned about you. Are you sure this is really about Margaery Tyrell? You didn’t even seem to like her before.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like her. Wrong is wrong. Besides, what else could it be?” Brienne mulishly crossed her arms over her chest.

“You rarely lose control of your temper to such a degree. This much emotion; it may not really be directed at Cersei. Often we chose a target we think is safer than the real focus.”

“Oh, so who do you think I really want to throttle? The High Septon? Margaery Tyrell? Ser Kettleblack? They all had a part in it, but Cersei’s the one…Cersei’s the one who sent me away.”

“ _That’s_ what you think she did wrong?”

“It was at the root of everything else. If she hadn’t sent me to Essos, I would have been here to save her from herself. The Red Witch, Melisandre, as much as said so. It’s all my fault.”

“No,” Tyrion said firmly. Inside he groaned. _She’s angry at herself for not living up to her own impossible standards, of fucking course._ Tyrion could have pulled out his own hair, she could be so frustrating. And where was Jaime? Wasn’t talking her down from thinking she had to be a paragon every moment of every day his responsibility now?

“It is. I knew. I knew she was headed for trouble. I saw that madness danced in her eyes sometimes. She talked about traitor’s plots behind every misfortune she encountered. She replaced half her small council, cutting out all the Tyrells instead of neutralizing them with the illusion of power. Even I knew that was a mistake. I let her send me away because I wanted to be with Jaime. I wanted to travel the world with him. I wanted to fuck him. If only I’d insisted I stay here, I could have saved her. It is my fault. All of it.”

“Brienne, she suffered, yes, but she’s still alive. Who can say what would have happened to Jaime in Essos without you, to say nothing of Pod? There’s only one of you. You made the best decision you could under the circumstances. It was not your fault. You are not responsible for Cersei’s choices.”

“I was selfish. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Gods.” For someone who could probably shrug off being trampled by a charging warhorse, Brienne did not weather emotional storms well. “Then ask for her forgiveness. If it was me, I’d laugh in your face and say there was nothing to forgive, but it’s her, so she may actually expect it. Apologize and see what happens.”

“You really think I should go to her?”

“I think clearing the air would help you, at least.” Which is all he really cared about. “With any luck it will dispel the tension between you and make you both feel better.”

 

Tyrion pondered the encounter all the way back to his rooms. His goodsister became overwrought at the strangest of times. And that blush, when he’d said that they’d feel better. His hand paused on the door handle in horror. She wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, thought he meant _that_. He called to mind Brienne’s eyes: guilty, surprised, and above all, interested. _Oh dear gods, what have I done?_ On the bright side, he’d already hit his low for the evening and could safely drink himself unconscious.

“Tyrion,” Jaime said. He’d been waiting in Tyrion’s sitting room for some time. “Have you seen Brienne? I’ve been looking everywhere for her. I know she often comes to talk with you when she’s upset. She values your counsel.”

“Yes, I’m full of good advice,” Tyrion said hanging his head. _Now_ he’d hit his low.

 

Brienne remembered Tyrion’s words ‘it will dispel the tension between you.’ Well, that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She thought of knocking on Cersei’s door, but decided to barge right inside. No one guarded the door because, of course, Cersei had the Lord Commander to keep her safe tonight.

However, Jaime didn’t seem to be here. Just Cersei, morosely staring at a cup of wine. She looked up as Brienne entered, countenance shifting from depressed to angry.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne said immediately. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. But also, I shouldn’t have listened to your orders. My instincts told me to stay with you rather than traveling to Essos. You don’t always know what’s best, Cersei.”

Cersei stood and approached. Brienne wondered if she was going to be slapped. Instead, Cersei lightly stroked her arm. “I’m sorry, too. I let you down. If I’m honest, I sent you away because I knew you’d interfere with my plans. It was as if I was at war with myself, and I couldn’t quite resist the temptation. Margaery’s taking my son from me bit by bit…I needed to stop her.”

“The ordeal will bring them closer.”

“I know,” Cersei sighed.

Brienne let a beat pass. Cersei still touched her arm, still craved connection. “Perhaps the two of us as well?” Cersei asked. Her earlier display of playful seduction had been replaced by unadorned hope. Brienne could no more resist it than she could ignore an actual call for help.

She coiled a hand into Cersei’s hair and pulled her into an embrace. Their kiss started tenderly but rapidly became inelegant and needy. Brienne swept Cersei up and carried her into the bedroom. Cersei’s arms wrapped around Brienne’s neck and held on as she was lowered onto the bed, pulling Brienne along. Brienne gently broke the kiss, withdrawing her lips to whisper, “You’ve been through a lot today, Your Grace. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Cersei scoffed. “In fact, if you try to back out now I’m likely to have you arrested. I’m joking. Barely. Please tell me you’re not changing your mind.”

“No, I’ve just heard it’s a good idea to make sure you’re both rowing in the same direction, before things go too far.”

“Who told you that?”

“My friend, Yara.” Of course, Yara often consorted with women with whom she didn’t share a language.

“I’ve found if you get a girl panting like this, you don’t really have to ask. See?” She gripped Brienne’s hand and guided it into her smallclothes. Sure enough, her arousal was unmistakable.

“Let me get you undressed, then.” Brienne unlaced Cersei’s shift and gradually pulled it down, first past her shoulders, then her breasts, then her waist. Wherever it left, Brienne’s lips replaced it. Cersei moaned lightly as Brienne lavished attention on her breasts and jumped when she dipped her tongue into her navel. Brienne used the surprise to pull the shift past her feet, taking the smallclothes along. Cersei grinned as she forced her thighs apart, expression turning to shock as Brienne settled her head between them.

“What the hells are you doing?”

Brienne had learned something about her visions from seeing the dragon’s fight come to pass: you’re not always seeing what you think. _I saw her do this to me, but the flames didn’t let on that I’d teach it to her first._ The flames left out a lot of background. Brienne felt lighter as she let go of the weight of the prophecies and determined to no longer let them influence her life.

Brienne put Yara’s lessons to good use. She soon heard Cersei’s confused questions stop and her breath go ragged.

Cersei’s hands clawed at the bedsheets, her hips rocked along with the strokes of Brienne’s tongue, and a constant high pitched keen came from her throat.

“Please…hurry….don’t leave me…empty,” Cersei gasped, barely forming understandable words.

Brienne slipped her fingers inside her queen. She remembered Yara’s careful evaluation: ‘Two should be plenty; she won’t mind you’re missing the third. Your hands are huge, though. Don’t fist her unless she’s had five or six babies.’ Don’t what her? Brienne had asked but Yara’d only rolled her eyes. The fingers slid in easily, and the queen moaned thickly at the intrusion. Brienne figured her pinky could fit in as well, and maybe… _oh...I should have gotten that from context. Yara’s not exactly subtle._

Two were plenty, apparently, when coupled with the right rhythm and suction on her clit. Cersei clenched repeatedly around them, arcing her hips so high Brienne had to rise into a squat to stay with her. Every one of her limbs thrashed, tensed, and then stilled.

“Get undressed and come here,” Cersei growled from deep in her throat, once she had a moment to recover.

Brienne shucked her tunic and crawled back up Cersei’s body. Cersei nudged her so she collapsed onto her back.

“What the hells was that? Did this Yara teach you that?” Brienne felt a thrill to see clear jealousy in Cersei’s cat-green eyes. She pinched a certain fold of Brienne’s body in a way that could have been painful, but didn’t turn out to be. Cersei lessened the pressure at just the right moment so that it was more like interrogation by hand job.

“Yes, she did.” _Kind of._ Brienne had almost grown sick of hearing, ‘Listen, it’d be so much easier just to show you.’ She’d stubbornly clung to her insistence of only verbal instructions, however.

“Would you rather have her or me?”

“Definitely you! Now, please finish me.” Brienne hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten just from hearing and tasting Cersei. Every one of her tender places was swollen and throbbed impatiently. She hadn’t been so desperate for relief since the night she’d lost her virginity.

“Oh no. No one undoes me like that and then gets away with coming after five seconds. This is going to take awhile. Now lie back, and get ready to be the girl for the rest of the night.”

Brienne couldn’t blame anything but the lack of blood in her brain when she said, “Yara says not to think of it that way. It’s not about playing roles; it’s about coming together however suits you best in the moment.” Yara had also said Brienne’s lady friend sounded pretty inexperienced with women, which had made her feel better than all the rest of the advice combined.

Cersei pinched Brienne’s breast with a force that caused her legs to tremble, though whether from pleasure or pain she couldn’t have said. “Do not talk about your other girlfriend while I’m fucking you. That’s just rude. Call me Yara while I’m inside you and I guarantee you won’t walk right tomorrow. Say ‘yes, my queen.’”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Good girl. Now lie still. Let’s see how much Jaime’s cock has opened you up.”

She explored with her fingers, determining, “Not so much.” Brienne tried to rock them deeper inside, earning another pinch. “I said lie still.”

“I could please you another way…if you’d let me finish. Please? I’ll do anything you want.”

“So I should take this part into my mouth?” Cersei asked coyly.

“YES!”

“Maybe later, then.” The agonized whine made her smile.

“How sensitive are these?” She asked, running a tongue over a nipple.

The answer of a noisy, messy climax was a bit unexpected. Well, now she knew that didn’t work for drawing it out. Brienne had been different last time, Cersei thought. Rather timid and straightforward, then. She liked this wilder, experimental Brienne much better, even if she did have to share her with Jaime and whoever the hells Yara was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I could have bumped the last scene for next time, but I’ve been such a tease about them in the past & I hate to repeat myself.


	37. King's Landing XV - Greater Numbers

Brienne tried to remember what city she was in as she climbed from sleep. Meereen? No, not the dingy pyramid; she could feel the sun on her skin. Volantis? No, there was no smell of smoke. King’s Landing? No, winter was nearly upon them and she was far too warm for that. She opened her eyes to see Cersei’s golden curls sharing her pillow. Oh. King’s Landing after all. And she felt warm because Cersei was snuggled into her arms while Jaime held her from behind.

Jaime’s hand began to caress her flank, showing he’d felt her awaken. “Good morning,” he said with a stretch. “Tyrion told me I’d probably find you here.” He’d also said ‘if you find them naked, please never, ever tell me.’ Considering Brienne’s lack of finesse at hiding her feelings, Jaime suspected he wouldn’t have to.

“We made up,” Brienne said.

“I can see that.” Jaime slid his gaze over them. “Gods, you’re beautiful together.”

Brienne swallowed back her question of ‘both of us?’ She couldn’t help but feel insecure lying next to Cersei – their contrasting appearance impossible to ignore – but as Jaime had given her no reason to doubt his attraction, the daemons in her head were becoming easier to subdue. Instead she said, “I’m glad you’re here. I expected to find you last night.”

“Mmm.” Jaime kissed the side of her neck. She could feel his attraction now.

“No. Wait.” Jaime’s right hand had worked its way between her legs and was lightly exploring the region.

“What’s wrong. Don’t tell me she left you sore.”

_A little._ “Well, she’s not the gentlest Lannister I’ve ever been with,” Brienne teased.

“I don’t know what else you expected,” Jaime laughed back.

“Fair enough. But wait until she wakes up.” She once again moved Jaime’s hand to someplace less interesting.

“Wake her up, then.”

“You wake her up.”

“Together?”

Cersei awoke to find herself surrounded. A set each of blue and green eyes stared at her with compelling interest.

“Give a lady a moment, you two. Now I know what a gazelle feels like.”

“Don’t fall for it. She’s a lion, too,” Jaime whispered.

Brienne pounced. She captured Cersei’s mouth with her own and rolled her onto her back. Brienne could only guess at how this was supposed to go. She’d imagined it. She strongly suspected Jaime had as well. Cersei was the first of them brave enough to voice the desire aloud, though, so Brienne thought she deserved to be the first lavished with attention. When Brienne felt Cersei’s mouth open beneath hers, she knew Jaime had joined in this reasoning.

Brienne kissed Cersei deeply while having a brief hand to hand dispute with Jaime over Cersei’s breasts. Jaime eventually ceded them and opted to caress Brienne’s instead. When Brienne shifted her mouth lower to kiss her way down to Cersei’s breasts, she felt the queen’s tensions melt away. Cersei started to climb towards her peak, tilting back her head and letting herself feel it all. Showing vulnerability had never been possible before, but then, she’d never felt so safe or so loved.

Jaime could tell Brienne had made a stimulating connection because Cersei became so slick as to be frictionless. She panted hard and held still for an extended moment before squeezing tight and pumping her hips with indecent abandon. Brienne stayed with her, even after Jaime pulled out, using her long and increasingly skillful fingers to ensure that Cersei’s satisfaction was complete.

Once her tremors of pleasure had stilled, Jaime ran a hand across Brienne’s thigh asking for entrance. She parted for him, but brought Cersei along as she moved into position. Jaime had to share space inside Brienne with Cersei’s fingers for a moment until she moved them to the swollen bud outside.

“She’s loud,” he warned Cersei before he started to move.

“I know,” she said back with a very satisfied grin. “Go guard the door if it bothers you.”

Cersei’s greedy smile turned Jaime’s long decadent strokes into urgent thrusts. Between Brienne’s muscles rhythmically tightening and her thick moans, he didn’t last long. Cersei returned Brienne’s attentiveness, making sure to wring her absolutely limp before moving her hand away to tenderly cup her flushed face.

 

Breakfast was awkward. Jaime suggested they go to the family dining room together as if nothing happened. The idea seemed fine while they dressed, but Brienne made an abrupt volte-face at the thought of meeting Tyrion there. He would know. He would…just know. In the end, they sent Dorcas for a tray and ate in Cersei’s sitting room. Brienne resolved to make herself scarce before Cersei’s loyal maid returned to change the sheets.

“I have a meeting scheduled with Queen Margaery this afternoon to discuss our trials. No matter how we got here,” Cersei said eliding over webs of betrayal and counter-betrayal, “we will each fare better with a coordinated strategy. I’m going to suggest trial by combat, of course. With Jaime defending me and Loras defending her, I believe we will both be proven virtuous.”

Brienne wanted to trust Cersei; she did. But sometimes it was best to check in. If Queen Margaery’s defense somehow failed, then Tommen would be all Cersei’s again.

“Cersei,” Brienne took her hand. “Do you promise not to sabotage Loras?” she whispered.

“I promise, dearheart.” Cersei gave her hand a firm squeeze.

“Thank you. I should go see to my squire and make sure that he understands his new training regime.” _And prevent him from coming to look for me._ “I will see you at luncheon.”

 

Cersei’s appetite had improved even if her mood was sour. She finished her meal of ox-tail soup with smoked duck sausage and oatbread before she announced the content of the message she received. “The High Septon has made his decision about my trial. He states that Margaery and I may request trial by ordeal as our right. However, considering the prominence of the accused and the severity of the charges, a pair of duels would not be sufficient. He mandates that the gods would be best satisfied by a Trial by Seven – the seven Crown defenders against seven Warrior’s Sons of his choice.”

“I’ll fight for you,” Brienne volunteered.

“You can’t. The defenders of the Crown have to be the Kingsguard. It’s actually written down in the Book of Laws.”

“What if the weakest of them pleads ill and cannot fight?” Brienne suggested. Ser Boros, Tommen’s food taster, had grown so fat he would have trouble sitting a horse, in her opinion.

“The High Septon would probably rule that an act of the gods and call forfeit. Sorry, you have to wait this one out.”

“Doesn’t he still hold Ser Kettleblack in his cells?” Jaime asked. “He’s rather putting his thumb on the scale if the Kingsguard doesn’t have our full complement.”

“He addressed that. He suggests Ser Kettleblack be replaced since he’s proven himself unworthy. I can’t say that he’s wrong. Kettleblack was bribed by Kevan and then didn’t even have the wit to see if I’d increase the bid. The High Septon can keep him. I’ll see to appointing a replacement.”

Jaime gestured in Brienne’s direction.

“You would have her renounce her marriage and her title? You-” Cersei bit off a truly poisonous assertion that Jaime must not love her much if he’d suggest that. She’d only say it to score a point in the debate, but Brienne’s heart would break to hear it. “I mean, I wouldn’t ask that of her. She’s her father’s only heir.” She faced Brienne. “Nor would I deny it, if it’s what you want.”

“Can’t you just have Tommen issue a proclamation for her, too?” Jaime asked.

“No!” Brienne said, “Being named to the Kingsguard is supposed to entail a sacrifice. Would you also have Tommen put you back in line for Casterly? Your marriage exception I can understand because of our unusual circumstances, but to take it further would make mockery of a noble institution.”

“I don’t suppose you’d agree to say the words and not mean them,” Cersei suggested. Brienne’s wrinkled brow showed she was struggling understand Cersei’s meaning. “Or let me appoint you and dismiss you directly afterward.”

“That would be deeply humiliating.”

“So you see the problem.” Cersei cupped Brienne’s cheek in her palm, then couldn’t resist a lingering kiss.

“I want it. I’ll renounce my title.” She’d renounced it before, for Renly. Perhaps that had been the fancy of a girl who didn’t fully understand the implications, but this love was real. If her father died suddenly, would she really leave King’s Landing to take her place as the Evenstar? No, she could not. Jaime was sworn to his duties, and she to him.

Cersei let out a surprised laugh. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you, I swear.”

“No, of course…it’s the ultimate honor for a knight to be chosen for the Kingsguard. So long as…can Tommen declare that female Kingsguard can be married? That shouldn’t upset too many people – at least no more than a female Kingsguard in the first place – and it’s for the same reason as Jaime. In fact, my septa always said I’d have to leave my father and cleave to my husband’s family. Protecting you and your children is doing my duty as a wife.”

“As soon as the trial is over, I’ll send you off to Tarth with a shipload of gifts for your father, so he knows how much Tommen and I value your service,” Cersei promised. Brienne puzzled her by wincing at the mention of her father. Then Cersei realized, “You haven’t hold him about your marriage yet! And now, this. Oh, you are in so much trouble. We might need to send two ships.”

 

Brienne’s appointment to the Kingsguard was a hurried and private affair, attended only by the royal family and her new sworn brothers. Only the Lord Commander, and possibly Ser Loras, seemed pleased. The other knights had complicated considerations about the woman thrown into their midst. They could acknowledge her abilities in combat. Most had seen her in the training yard often enough to realize she’d give any of them a good fight. Her appointment violated quite a few norms, however, especially the truncated version of the oath that only renounced her titles and swore her to defend the royal family with her life. Someone grumbled about the Kingslayer’s whore, but no one would admit who.

King Tommen happily guided her through the vows. The way they’d told him, he would have his wife and his mother back with no encumbrances after a brief tourney. He didn’t see any problem with the new Kingsguard being a woman. She was as big as a man and as well trained. Margaery said she’d been a member of Renly’s Kingsguard, like Loras, and he was a perfect knight. She even slept in Mother’s bed, Margaery noted, so she could protect her at night. It seemed like an ideal solution.

The rest of the day was filled with hurried preparations for the Trial by Seven. Brienne’s new enameled white armor needed to be properly fitted. Then, she had to offer prayers for dedication to each of the gods. No priests seemed available to anoint her this time, but that wasn’t strictly necessary. Brienne made the circuit of the temple statute by statute. She even churlishly added a prayer to the Red God at the burning torch on the wall sconce, but looked away when images started to form in the flames. That was probably just from the fasting anyway, she told herself. She wasn’t allowed to eat until sundown and already felt ravenous.

After dinner, she and Jaime escorted Cersei to bed. It felt less strange this time, possibly because Brienne had been repeatedly toasted during the meal and thus drank a lot more wine than usual. She mainly remembered green eyes. Sometimes she thought she was seeing double, but perhaps it was just the twins. She wasn’t at all sure which one she kissed last before she gave in to exhaustion.

 

The seven knights of the Kingsguard lined up astride their destriers on the tourney grounds. Opposite them, Jaime recognized the leader of the Warrior’s Sons, Ser Theodan Wells. Of the others, he knew only his cousin Lancel. The Warrior’s Sons were clad in silver plate, greathelms embedded with crystals, and long rainbow cloaks. Rumor had it they wore hair shirts underneath their armor at all times. Still, Jaime knew that each of these men had been selected with care to participate in the Trial by Seven. The High Septon knew such a spectacle would draw attention to the Faith and would not want to display any weakness.

The High Septon read the full list of charges aloud from the royal box, a rare miscalculation on his part. That far from the crowded viewing stands, only the assembled high nobility could hear the complete list. The scandalous sexual rumors were good for nothing but gossip. Far worse had been the accusations of conspiracy in the murder of King Robert. The events transpired while Jaime had been prisoner at Riverrun, so he didn’t have direct knowledge of them. He knew Cersei had taken Lancel as her lover; Lancel had been Robert’s squire; and Robert’s death had definitely been brought about by a boar’s wound. There could be some missing steps in the middle, but Jaime refused to speculate about it now. Robert had been a brute to Cersei and deserved whatever happened, but it would be best if any uncertainty didn’t make it into the popular consciousness.

The two groups of knights set their lances and prepared to charge. The pure white line of the Kingsguard – white armor, white shields, even white lances – filled Brienne with a vicious pride. Not for herself, at least not solely, but for the institution that had protected the royal family for hundreds of years. She was a part of it now and judgment was not part of her mandate. The gods would decide whether Cersei (and Margaery) had committed any sins worth punishment. She would merely do her utmost to defend the family, in accordance with the position of trust she held.

The lines of horsemen met with a spectacular clash, and the crowd roared approval. The sounds from the impact were deeper than those from a tournament joust because these were war lances, solid with sharp tips. They were designed to impale through an enemy’s shield rather than shatter showily on impact. Four of the Warrior’s Sons and two of the Kingsguard lost their seats in the collision. Even those who remained in the saddle dropped their lances as being too slow and wheeled their destriers around for the next pass.

Brienne and Jaime drew their Valyrian steel swords, leaving nothing to chance. Any idea of taking the Faith’s champions lightly had evaporated when they saw their armor and horses. The High Septon may not believe in frivolous crowns for himself, but he knew the value of good steel and horseflesh. The Warrior’s Sons would fight to the death, assured of their place in the high heavens for their actions today.

Brienne attempted to ride down an unhorsed man. He deflected her blow with his shield, but the Valyrian steel cut through and destroyed it in the process. Jaime timed his attack better and struck between another man and his shield, giving first blood to the Crown. Loras paired off with Lancel, both still astride their horses. Jaime wished Loras gods-speed. Even under these circumstances, he’d prefer to avoid becoming a kinslayer.

On the third pass, Brienne killed her target. She’d found the emotionless place that allowed her to strike without regret, even though this man had done her no wrong. He refused to yield and had taken a swing at her horse’s flank, so she cut him diagonally from shoulder to opposite side. Jaime unhorsed another rider whose leg broke with a meaty snap as he hit the ground. He did not immediately cry for mercy, but the pain and shock would make him useless for further combat.

Brienne felt heartened to see the unhorsed Kingsguard fighting back to back. She rode over to provide them with better defense. As she drew closer, she saw they had killed an unhorsed Warrior’s Son and another lay gravely injured after a clash with Ser Moore. By her count, that meant the Faith had no more than two active fighters remaining.

Jaime rode hard at the leader of the Warrior’s Sons, Ser Wells. “Yield!” he demanded. “Yield and spare your lives. You must see the day is lost. You have two against seven now. Surely the gods have spoken.”

Ser Wells brought his shield up in defense and seemed to be considering his position. Jaime heard an inarticulate cry of rage from his left.

“Cersei is a slut and a liar,” Lancel yelled. “She soiled my honor and enticed me to monstrous deeds. She must not win the day!” He rode straight at Jaime, heedless of his horse’s well-being. Even after it tried to slow its gallop, its momentum caused them to ram together. Both horses crashed down in a tangled, screaming pile. Lancel tackled Jaime and drove his knee into his stomach as they landed. The wind driven from him, Jaime struggled to breathe in. All he could focus on was the seven pointed star carved into his cousin’s forehead and the madness in his eyes.

Jaime didn’t hear Brienne and Loras ride to his rescue. He only noticed Brienne’s feral expression as she drew back her sword and prepared to separate his cousin’s head from his body.

_There is no man so cursed as a kinslayer._ “No!” Jaime cried to Brienne. “Now he’s your kin, too.”

Brienne could see that the man would not yield, and yet Jaime did not want to see him killed. She flipped her sword around and used the weight of its hilt in her gauntlet to pummel at Lancel’s helm. She kept punching until he offered no further threat. Ser Wells, finding himself alone and surrounded by Kingsguard, dropped his sword and yielded the day.

In the royal box, the High Septon fell to his knees in prayer. After a time, he rose. If he was dissatisfied with the results of the trial he did not let his opinions show. “The gods have spoken. Queen Margaery and Queen Regent Cersei are innocent of the charges against them. May the gods have mercy on the souls of any false accusers.”

The Kingsguard left the Faith to tend to their injured and returned to their proper place nearby the royal family. King Tommen, his wife, mother, and sister returned to the Red Keep, with their honor and honor guard fully intact.

 


	38. Tarth II - Reception

Meat from the forests of the Crownlands, fruit from Highgarden, citrus from Dorne, grain from the Westerlands, and fish from the Riverlands all sailed with Brienne and Jaime to Tarth. Practically an entire realm’s worth of gratitude had been stuffed into the hold of their ship, not to mention silk and rare spices from Essos and a bird from the Summer Isles trained to speak over a hundred human words.

They sent a raven in advance of their arrival, but it was largely unnecessary. The huge trading galley took up much of Tarth’s harbor and brought out the curious smallfolk. They cheered Brienne when she disembarked wearing her Kingsguard armor. As provincial as Jaime found the people of Tarth, he would always love them for that.

Selwyn Tarth met Brienne and Jaime at the entrance to Evenfall Hall. He regarded her attire seriously, then braved a smile. “I do hope I’m not in such trouble that the Crown sent two Kingsguard after me.”

“Of course not, Father,” Brienne said embracing him. Her father's strong arms settled her, even though she knew the calm couldn't last long. “You had word from the qu…King Tommen?”

“Yes. I am bursting with pride for you, Brienne. The entire island is enriched by having one of our own in the Kingsguard. I am still considering the other matter, however.”

“Other matter?” She and Jaime exchanged confused glances.

“The offer of appointment as Lord of Ships. It would be an honor to serve, but of course I have my responsibilities as Evenstar to consider.”

Brienne could see Cersei’s line of thought: if her father appoints a castellan while he’s away from Tarth, then he may become more comfortable about leaving the estate with someone else…and not bitter about losing his heir. He may also grow more satisfied at having his daughter in the Kingsguard if he has the opportunity to see her at her duties.

“I hope you take it, Father,” she said. “At the very least, we would see one another more often. You could also probably do a lot of good for Tarth, especially if there’s further conflict.”

 

Selwyn welcomed Ser Jaime with a customary meal, but it started to seem like poor fare as the astonishing array of gifts were carried in from the harbor. He also couldn’t help but notice how many times Jaime looked to and touched his daughter. It was difficult to avoid the conclusion that their relationship had become physical. She’s a woman grown, he told himself, of course she’d have desires. The gods knew he didn’t provide her with a perfect example of chastity during her childhood. Perhaps he should have married again instead of his string of brief, intense romances. He’d never been able to abide the thought of another woman in his late wife’s role, though, wearing her clothes and hearing the children call her Mother.

Brienne cleared her throat and said, “Jaime and I have something of importance to discuss with you.” She looked shakily to her companion for reassurance.

Selwyn’s heart sank. What could she be terrified to tell him? What else, but… _That lout. He’s gotten her with child, and of course he won’t deign to marry her. My poor, trusting, sweet-hearted girl. I saw the way he was looking at her. I never should have let them leave together when they last visited. At least he had the courage to come make amends in person. I suppose that’s what all the gifts were really about. And, a grandchild would be a blessing, no matter its origin. Little Alyssa or mayhap Selwyn Storm. Bastards can inherit, after all._

“We…married in Pentos,” she said, reluctantly prying her eyes from Jaime to connect with her father. “I’m so sorry. It was spontaneous, and well…we shouldn’t have done it that way.”

Selwyn swiveled his attention to Jaime in shock. “I have no regrets. She made me promise never to ask for her hand, so for once, this is entirely on her.” The previous week, with great relief, Jaime had remembered the promise she extorted from him early in their companionship. Surely his always-honorable swordswench wouldn’t have expected him to break his first vow to her.

Brienne gave him an incredulous look and, when that had no effect, a not-exactly-gentle kick.

“Don’t look at me – you know what you said.”

“They perform a lot of love marriages in Pentos,” she muttered. “The priests don’t ask any questions there.”

Jaime took in Selwyn’s troubled expression. “She was a maid on her wedding night, have no fear.” Ten nights after, as well. Jaime occasionally admonished himself for the lost time.

“He doesn’t care about that!” an embarrassed Brienne protested.

In fact, she was wrong. Selwyn had revised his beliefs to conclude she must have been with child when they married and lost it in the intervening months. Wonderful that she had been spared such pain… but that only left… they married in haste because they loved each other? He contemplated that for a moment, stunned. What better outcome could he have wanted for his stubborn, willful child? Though, truly, she loved the Kingslayer? And no grandchild?

“If you have a septon on the island, we could say our vows again, to the Seven this time,” Jaime offered. “At least, I’m willing. The look on your face may have woken her up to her dreadful mistake, my lord.”

Selwyn knew there was nothing on his face but an increasingly bemused smile. Ser Jaime was a bit of a charming rogue, he could see. Handsome as well, though fifteen years Brienne’s senior. Still, he’d personally approved a match forty years her senior, so he could hardly protest on those grounds. The man seemed funny, caring, and gentle, especially with Brienne’s easily bruised feelings. He would be a match for her in the training yard (Selwyn edged around thinking about the bedchamber, but probably there as well). However, his reputation was low. The rumors about him were stomach-turning. It was striking, Selwyn had to admit. He would have shuddered to hear of the match from afar, but in person, the man was perfectly acceptable. (Which was as high as he was presently willing to praise anyone who claimed to be good enough for his daughter).

“You would marry her again, right now?”

“Absolutely. Or we could stay a week and you could invite your local lords and make a small celebration of it. Or wait longer and throw a huge celebration. Or all of it. I’ll marry her as many more times as you’d like.”

_He’s completely besotted_ , Selwyn realized. Brienne’s good qualities were not hard to find, but so many men had proved myopic about her over the years. Finally, she’d found one who viewed her clearly. He made his decision and strode over to Jaime. Donning a scowl Jaime knew well, he held out a hand. When Jaime took it, Selwyn pulled him up into a sudden bearhug. “Welcome to the family, good-son!”

The story she’d presented was not exactly the truth, but Brienne could imagine no better way to package the information. With the months of unrequited lust, courting (both proper and highly improper), accidental marriage, as-far-as-she-knew-at-the-time sinful consummation, then long delay in telling anyone about it, she could hardly play the innocent. All in all, the tale of run-away emotions triumphing over reason actually put them both in a better light.

 

Lord Tarth invited (one might almost say required) his guests to stay a week while he organized a wedding. The lesser lords and their household knights, always eager to enjoy the hospitality of Evenfall, arrived early. Selwyn also, therefore, required Brienne and Jaime to sleep in separate bedrooms and keep up appearances. Brienne genuinely tried to do so, while Jaime became an expert at sneaking around the castle.

He found Brienne in her bedroom pawing nervously through her wardrobe. She turned to confront him with one of her best scowls in place, but Jaime didn’t think it was really meant for him. “Why did you have to suggest we marry again?” she asked.

“I’m not entirely sure your father believed us about Pentos, and besides, of course he’d want to attend his only daughter’s wedding, even if it is a do-over.”

“I’ve gotten bigger since I left to join Renly,” she admitted, shamefaced. “My shoulders and arms especially. Nothing fits.”

Jaime had noticed, as she passed her twentieth nameday, she seemed to gain one last spurt of growth. She’d added another inch in height, perhaps, and some more meat on her shoulders plus a bit on her chest. It all made him feel old, though, and he’d elected to keep his mouth shut for a change.

“There’s nothing wrong with your body, and I’m certain you have something that fits.”

“Not in white. Septa Roelle says I must wear white… for the guests. So they’ll know she taught me well. Do you know, she said she was proud of me? That’s the first time I recall her ever saying so. After all I’ve done, snaring a husband from a high house is what makes her proud.” Brienne sighed, resigned to the fate of acting like a proper lady for a time. “I did see some white silk as part of Cersei’s gifts, but I don’t want to ask our seamstress to make a new dress for me on such short notice and just for the one occasion.”

“No one has to make you anything. And, yes, it’s in white.” He pointed to the Kingsguard armor standing in her corner. Fuck being a lady; she should be comfortable on her wedding day.

“Is that what you’re going to wear, too?” she asked, eyes wide but clearly pleased.

“Your septa did not teach you so well, after all. The man wears his house colors to welcome his bride. I have what I need. I even brought the Lannister bridal cloak.”

Brienne gave him a sideways look. “You put some thought into this, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. The worst your father can do to _you_ now is be disappointed in your poor taste. But me? If I don’t satisfy him I did right by his innocent daughter, I could find my reputation destroyed.”

“That would certainly be a blow,” came out of Brienne’s mouth by accident. A prick of hurt flashed in Jaime’s eyes before he grinned it away.

“Well, I am trying to do the right thing now.”

“I know you are. I’m sorry. The Stormlands were very loyal to the Targaryens. We’d probably still be in rebellion if one of our own hadn’t claimed the throne. We can be a stubborn, self-righteous people, and I only rejoice that you so often excuse it in me. Please know there’s nothing but love underneath for you. I tie my fate and reputation to yours very willingly.”

 

After spending more than half of his life serving the Crown and attending services in the Grand Sept of Baelor, Tarth’s sept felt tiny to Jaime. The statutes of the Seven seemed crammed in shoulder to shoulder, giving the place a crowded feel, especially with the septon, Brienne, Jaime, and Selwyn all needed up front. There was beauty here though, if he examined closely. Intricate details in the Mother’s robe and elaborate swirls in the Father’s beard showed careful, precise craftsmanship. He took Brienne’s hand and gave it a squeeze to see if she was ready to marry him on purpose this time.

She squeezed back confidently. She looked majestic and serene in her enameled armor, the Tarth maiden’s cloak draped over her back. Definitely an improvement over wedging her into an ill-fitting dress and requiring her to stand on display in front of an audience. Of course, he’d marry her naked (Daenerys’ scribe said that was the custom on Naath) or with them both covered by black tarps like in Asshai. His lips curled at the idea of finding a way to marry her in every tradition. He’d present her with a feathered headdress like a Summer Islander; he’d fuck her under the stars like the Dothraki; he’d… better keep his mind on the business at hand or this could get embarrassing.

Selwyn did not see fit to abbreviate the ceremony in any way. The septon had them make their seven vows, invoked the seven blessings, and led them through the exchange of the seven promises. By the time they sang fully seven wedding hymns, Jaime felt Lord Tarth was making a point. Fortunately, no one saw fit to challenge their union, and so they could move on to the crux of the ritual.

Lord Tarth removed Brienne’s maiden’s cloak with a heavy breath that tried not to be a sob. He kept his chin up and regarded the couple with clear, proud eyes as Jaime fastened the Lannister bride’s cloak around her neck.

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” Jaime declared. Brienne echoed his words. She usually spoke softly in front of crowds, but today she made sure everyone could hear her. Jaime would remember the kiss forever even though her lips were chapped from the ocean air and it was far more chaste than he would have preferred.

The septon said, “May the gods bear witness that from this day until their end of days, Jaime of House Lannister and Brienne of House Tarth are one flesh, one heart, and one soul.”

 

A great many of the Crown’s gifts made their way to the reception dinner. Lord Tarth threw open the gates of Evenfall for any who wanted to attend, and so much of the local population feasted on the Crown’s largess. Naturally, plenty of beer kegs were tapped too, though the Arbor Gold and Dornish Red were reserved for the high tables.

As the guests became rowdy with drink, they surprised Jaime by pounding on their tables for a bedding. He hadn’t thought they’d dare. Brienne was an awfully big girl to begin with, then she’d added another seventy pounds of armor. They were undeterred, however, and straining, lifted the bride onto their shoulders and began to carry her to the bedchamber. Jaime imagined there’d be some aching backs among their number in the morning. The women had an easier time with him since he was too amused to put up much of a fight.

Jaime arrived at the bedchamber first, naked as him nameday. The men soon threw in Brienne about half undressed. Those buckles and straps on her armor could be tricky for the inexperienced. She took a moment to recover from the ordeal, admiring him as he stood exposed and unashamed before her.

“So wife, should we celebrate like we did our first wedding night?” Jaime asked, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“You mean, sleep in separate beds and ache with loneliness? No, I’d rather go a different way this time.”

Jaime laughed that she hadn’t fallen for his trick. “Shall we leave your armor on again?”

She giggled as well. Every drop of that glass and a half of wine had gone to her head, or perhaps it was just the relief that the day was over with no mishaps. “I don’t think this old bed could take the extra strain.”

“As my lady wishes, though I can point out that the floor looks passably solid.”

“When we’ve demolished the bed we can try the floor. But at present your lady would like to feel silken sheets beneath her and a furry lion on top.”

The witnesses listening outside didn’t have long to wait before they could verify consummation had occurred. And if the bride sounded a bit experienced in the matter, well, that was just the Stormlands passions telling true.

 


	39. King's Landing XVI - Loras

Brienne hadn’t thought marriage, especially remarriage, would change her, but she had to acknowledge a certain shift in her outlook. The world seemed like a brighter place now; her problems more manageable, easy even. This optimistic attitude lasted almost until their ship finished docking at the King’s Landing harbor.

The sunrise through the smog of the King’s Landing skies looked particularly beautiful this morning, Brienne had just noted, when she saw Podrick standing stiffly at the edge of the dock. His young face twitched in anxiety as he waited for them to disembark. Seeing no reason to put off the inevitable, Brienne gathered Jaime and headed out into the fray.

“M-my lady, S-Ser Jaime. You m-must come quickly. S-Ser Loras took ill yesterday. Grandmaester P-Pycelle doesn’t think he’ll last the day. He’s saying it may be p-poison.” Pod added the last sentence in a harsh, disillusioned whisper. As a cousin to Ser Ilyn Payne, he’d seen many lawful executions, and as squire to Tyrion he’d witnessed some questionable dealmaking, but the murder of a Kingsguard knight had shaken him.

Podrick escorted Brienne and Jaime to Pycelle’s study where Grandmaester Pycelle flipped hopelessly through ancient treatises on healing. As he’d discovered the last time he encountered this poison, once its advance began, all treatment was ineffective. He stood, squinting his strained eyes as Jaime strode into the room.

“What have you learned about Loras’ condition and who may have hurt him?” Jaime asked Pycelle.

“He became ill yesterday evening, while guarding the queen’s door – Queen Margaery, I mean. He said he felt confused and unwell for a good hour, but stood his ground until a maid could rouse another Kingsguard to provide him relief. He wisely came to me, rather than trying to sleep it off. I noticed the blisters starting to form and feared…we’d end up here. It’s a similar progression to our late King Joffrey. Ser Loras is physically stronger, but it will end the same, I’m afraid.

“I knew Lord Tywin had nothing to do with Joffrey’s murder,” Pycelle added passionately. “Perhaps this at least will serve to clear your father’s good name.”

_My father found maesters pathetic and servile,_ Jaime thought, _and I’m not sure he was wrong._ Tywin wouldn’t entertain the idea of allowing even to Tyrion join their number. The unearned love Pycelle bore for his family filled Jaime with nothing but confusion.

“May we see him?” Brienne asked. “We’d like to know if there’s anything more he can tell us.”

“I told him about the poison, and he couldn’t think of anyone who had reason to strike against him. Perhaps he has taken more time to reflect on it. Feeling the end approach can lend a clarifying aspect to the mind. He can barely talk now, however. His tongue is swollen with blisters, and they go all the way down his throat. The more he talks, the more will burst, causing him to bleed into his lungs and belly. Understand; he doesn’t have much time.”

 

Brienne and Jaime entered the partitioned-off sickroom where Loras had been made as comfortable as possible. He lay partially reclined in bed, propped up with pillows to ease his breathing. His usually fair skin had a ruddy cast, and his fingernails were black. When he opened his eyes, they were bright red from hemorrhages. Pycelle had been correct; this looked exactly like Joffrey’s decline.

“Loras, do you have any idea who poisoned you?” Jaime brought his face close to Loras’ so he could hear any whispered word.

Loras’ eyes slowly focused on his visitors. All the pretense and competition he’d once had with Jaime were stripped away. He was left only as a desperate young man who would never reach his potential. He nodded once.

“A name?”

Loras shook his head. He put a hand over his throat to support his speech. “S-sister,” he said in a garbled whisper.

“Margaery?” Brienne yelped. That didn’t seem possible; the Tyrell siblings were devoted to one another. Loras guarded Margaery’s door every possible shift, escorting her to lessons and prayers, even her sojourns into the city.

Loras shook his head. He tried to speak again but all that emerged was a bloody croak. He pointed at Brienne, then touched his hair.

“A blonde sister?” Margaery was brunette, but she was also the only sister Loras had, to Brienne’s knowledge. “Is she a bastard? A Flowers?”

Loras shook his head more vigorously. With great effort, he sat forward and blindly clawed at his bedside table until he found a book. _The Seven-Pointed Star_. He held it forward in desperation.

“A septa? A blonde septa?” Jaime asked.

Loras nodded, lying back in exhaustion. He swallowed compulsively and groaned. His belly looked unnaturally bloated now, filling with blood.

“We’ll summon Pycelle for you, and Queen Margaery,” Jaime said. “We will also find this blonde septa, have no doubt of that.”

 

Jaime and Brienne left the Red Keep for a private walk in the Godswood. They both found the atmosphere inside suffocating after a week spent on the beaches of Tarth. Jaime felt the weight of duty settle around his shoulders again. While they’d been celebrating, intrigues at court had continued apace.

“The faith has killed one of our best Kingsguard,” he said.

“You think this blonde septa was acting under higher orders?” Brienne asked. Every time she thought she’d seen the worst of King’s Landing, she was made witness to a new, lower level. Now Jaime was saying that the faith itself would be party to assassination.

“We humiliated the High Septon at the Trial of Seven. Perhaps this is his revenge.”

“Perhaps, but he seems like a true believer to me. I don’t think he’d go against so direct a verdict from the gods. I think it may be more personal. Loras fought directly with Lancel for most of the battle. Lancel is…” Brienne trailed off, not wanting to speak ill of her good-cousin when he was clearly not in his right mind.

“A fanatic, yes.”

“Yes. So this could be his way of redeeming himself before the gods.”

“It’s the same poison that killed Joffrey. Could that little puke Lancel have poisoned Joffrey? I don’t think he has it in him to kill a king.” Jaime quickly reconsidered that statement in light of the accusations against Cersei. But even if Lancel had some part in the death of Robert Baratheon, Joffrey was his kin.

“Do you think we should tell Cersei our suspicions about the poison?” Brienne asked with dread.

“Not yet. She’s finally come back to herself again. If we bring up Joffrey and poison, we may send her into another spiral of madness,” Jaime replied.

Brienne nodded in agreement. “But if something happens to Tommen or Myrcella…”

“Tommen already has a food taster, but that’s a good point about Myrcella. We should assign tasters for the entire family. Quietly. The food will be tasted after it leaves the kitchen but before it hits the table.”

“Good. I have another question: how did Loras see a septa uncovered to know her hair color? Mine was always meticulous about covering her…glory as she called it. You don’t suppose he was courting her, do you?”

“Loras? No, he could never look at another after Renly. He told me ‘once the sun has set, no candle can replace it.’ Perhaps if Lord Tyrell required him to marry he could have done his duty, but he closed off that part of his life when his love died.”

 

Loras passed away during the night with Margaery holding his hand. Pycelle would say afterward that her presence brought the young knight more peace that his doses of milk of the poppy.

The next morning, Brienne was assigned to guard Queen Margaery during the day as Loras lay in state. The queen was raw with grief and in no way desired companionship, but King Tommen would not hear of allowing her to turn aside protection.

“Your Grace, you are aware that I spoke with Ser Loras shortly before he died. He mentioned a blonde septa whom we have not been able to locate. Do you know who he could have meant?” The faith had been most unforthcoming about their septas, and even Qyburn’s spies had not spotted a blonde septa acting the least bit unusual.

The queen shook her head barely acknowledging Brienne’s presence.

“It’s important, Your Grace,” Brienne tried again. “Loras had reason to think she was his killer. We can’t figure out when he could have seen a septa uncovered though. Perhaps he saw her with you?”

“That’s a disgusting rumor,” Margaery said. Brienne still considered herself no expert, but Margaery may have said that a bit too stridently.

“I’m not seeking to spread gossip, Your Grace. I’m trying to find this woman who may have killed your brother. Our brother, for he was a member of the Kingsguard and thus brother to me as well. Kingsguard keep the secrets of their sovereigns.”

“Like you keep Cersei’s secrets?” Margaery snapped.

“Yes, Your Grace. Exactly…I mean, much like that.” Brienne said, realizing partway through that she herself was one of Cersei’s secrets.

Margaery looked at Brienne straight on. Without Loras, Margaery did not know who she could trust. Confiding in the wrong person might be her last misstep. As thick-headed and strange as Brienne acted, however, she never seemed disloyal. “I don’t know her name, but she’s not truly a septa. I believe she’s a spy. I wasn’t certain before, but I’ve been observing carefully, and I haven’t seen her at any of the services.”

“What makes you think she’s a spy?”

“I’ve seen her lurking about, far too coincidentally, far too many times. You’d have thought the councilors’ offices were between her quarters and the sept for all the times I caught her there. Plus, she could never do the head-covering quite right. I pointed it out to Loras. Perhaps he…did something rash.” The queen’s face twisted, worried now that she had inadvertently led to her brother’s death.

Loras lay in state for a full week in the Sept of Baelor to honor his service to the crown. Each of his fellow Kingsguard stood vigil for one day during the week, with the Lord Commander taking the first and last shift.

During her vigil, Brienne stared down at Loras’ once fair face. They’d had a difficult beginning, both pining for Renly’s affection – one hopelessly, the other successfully but in secret. He’d hated her after Renly’s murder, even formally accused her of being responsible. Jaime had convinced him otherwise both with his swordwork and his words. In the end, they’d been able to serve together under the shared noble goal of protecting the royal family. He appeared to have died for it.

Brienne’s heart sank as she realized Loras had never seen justice done for Renly. This felt truly inexcusable. She knew where Stannis had fled. They’d been content to allow him to stay in the North out of their way because other concerns always seemed more pressing. She resolved to inquire of Lord Commander Lannister of the Night’s Watch if he had new information on Stannis. She would have to ask Jaime’s opinion on signing her missive ‘Brienne Lannister.’

During his watches, Jaime also reflected on his complicated relationship with Loras, the young man who had reminded him of himself from the day they’d met. Handsome, brash, arrogant, gifted, precocious, incautious in love – which of them was he even talking about? If only Loras had more time, he would have found it heals the soul. Perhaps he even could have found someone new. Different from his first love, but in a challenging, interesting way.

 

Brienne and Jaime watched as the Silent Sisters prepared the wagon containing Loras’ bones for departure. Two of them, introduced quickly as Sisters Dorothea and Peony were to accompany them to Highgarden. Neither were likely to be blonde given their dark eyebrows and complexions, but Brienne still resolved to watch them carefully. At the very least, she’d be sure she and Jaime were circumspect in their discussions. Perhaps they are not truly Silent Sisters, and anything they heard would be relayed back to the High Septon. A deep part of Brienne’s heart hurt to no longer be able to trust the representatives of her faith.

Tyrion trundled over to join them. “You’ll be leaving for Highgarden soon?” he asked.

“Yes, it should be a smooth journey down the Roseroad,” Jaime replied, “returning via the Goldroad.”

“Thank you for agreeing to escort Lady Sansa to King’s Landing. With all the intrigue, I need someone I trust implicitly. You and Brienne are the extent of my list. By all means, though, take your time in the west. You could make a honeymoon of it. Travel up the Ocean Road. Dip you toes in the Sunset Sea.”

Jaime shook his head. They had to make the journey and the return as quickly as possible. On the recommendation of the small council, a new Kingsguard knight, Ser Remyn Fowler, had been appointed. Jaime remained unconvinced he was suited for the position. He was young and quick like Loras, but not as heavily muscled. Jaime placed him on only the most ceremonial of duties until he could more adequately judge his capabilities. Having himself and Brienne away and a green knight in the guard left the royal family dangerously underprotected. However, Jaime felt compelled to demonstrate proper respect in returning Loras’ body to Highgarden.

“Pod will have the horses ready soon,” Brienne said. “Thank you for being so gracious about the transfer. He will enjoy seeing Casterly again and can bring back anything he left there.”

“My pleasure.” Tyrion regretted not being able to provide Pod with the knightly experience he desired, but if anyone could give the lad worthy training, it was his good-sister.

“I wish your duties as Hand didn’t tie you here. Jaime is unlikely to tell me all the embarrassing stories about his childhood that I’m sure the Rock will trigger.”

“I don’t have many pleasant memories there, I’m afraid. I always feel a bit of a prisoner, cut off from the world in the huge isolated castle. Perhaps that’s why after returning there for only a few months, I got it into my head to become a battle commander.”

“What exactly happened between you and Kevan?” Jaime asked. He’d heard Cersei’s interpretation and had his own ideas, but he’d love to hear his little brother’s justification.

“Kevan had the Lannister army sitting outside Riverrun, doing nothing and eating through their provisions.”

_In other words, laying siege,_ Jaime thought, _a completely ordinary tactic of war._ It didn’t needlessly expend lives in attack after attack, but slowly starved the enemy out. By withdrawing the army, Riverrun had been given plenty of time to restock.

“I decided to use a more clever strategy. I sent the army to the Twins to take Edmure Tully into custody. The men of Riverrun would recognize him as their rightful heir. If I could sway him to our side, they would open the gates for him, and he would leave them open for us. If I couldn’t, I might threaten to hang him outside their castle. Surely the Blackfish would see reason then.”

Jaime almost guffawed. Tyrion had never met the Blackfish, clearly.

“When we arrived at the Twins, however, the place was deserted but for dozens of stinking corpses. Walder Frey’s throat was cut and his eldest sons were missing. Many bodies, all wearing Frey tabards were slumped over at tables – probably dead from poison – but all the servants were gone. We searched the surrounding village and found most of the staff as well as Edmure Tully. They said some boy had locked them away, releasing them and the prisoners once the hall was silent. They walked through that abattoir of a dining room to escape, and all said they were never going back. Honestly, and you know I’m not a superstitious man, but the sights I saw there…if any place in the Kingdoms deserves to be haunted, it’s the Twins.”

“And afterwards, you…?”

“Looted the place dry to pay the Iron Bank. Identified which bodies we could, then burned the lot of them. Since no one stepped forward to claim right to the castle, I left the commanders of the Lannister army in charge and sent most of the rest back home. Winter is coming; the North is right about that. The Westerlands and Riverlands have been too long deprived of men to harvest the crops. If we’re lucky, we can get in another planting before the snows arrive.”

Jaime knelt to be level with his brother. He cast his gaze around to make sure no one but Brienne could overhear. “Tyrion, do you truly not realize why Kevan was chasing you North? If he’d caught up to you, he would have summarily executed you for treason, and I can’t say he didn’t have a good argument. You brought an army against our allies, the Freys. What were you thinking?”

“I suppose I thought we needed better allies. The Tullys believe in duty and honor. The Freys have already betrayed one set of liege lords. Who’s to say they won’t turn on us if the price is right? What was _Father_ thinking, throwing in our lot with the Freys and, gods help us, the Boltons?”

“He was thinking we were losing! He was thinking Robb Stark was cutting a blazing swath through the Riverlands straight for the capital, with Robert Baratheon’s brothers massing to the south. If they’d had the sense to join forces, you and I would have ended our days rotting on spikes. Allying with the Freys to kill Robb Stark was worth it to save the throne. You know this.”

“What about killing Renly?” Brienne asked.

“We had nothing to do with that,” Jaime said.

“Yes, but his army was the largest at that point. Arguably the most present threat. Would you have supported killing him by any means necessary?”

“…perhaps. Brienne, when thrones change hands there are atrocities. Entire families are killed to keep any of them from rising back up. Just look at Robert and the Targaryens. Daenerys is doing her very best to prove him right, by the way. In this case, we were talking about my family. Robb Stark would not have gently escorted Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, and Cersei to an isolated island to spend the rest of their days. Or if he would have, his underlings certainly wouldn’t. Lord Karstark would have made mincemeat of them and laughed all the while. When the stakes of a game are as high as the throne, you win or you die.”

Brienne gestured toward Loras’ wagon. “So what is this, an opening move?”

Jaime nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

 


	40. Highgarden

The elaborate beauty of Highgarden was hard to take in at one glance. Even Jaime, who had visited many times for tournaments or affairs of state, found his gaze bouncing around the castle’s ostentatious features. Some of its white stone towers supposedly dated back to the Age of Heroes, with newer ones lofting delicately into the sky to give a commanding view of the region. Its castle walls were adorned with intricate climbing ivies, all surrounded by three tiers of ornamented curtain walls. Outside the castle proper was a labyrinthine folly meant to amuse guests as well as slow invaders and extravagant fields of golden roses stretching beyond the line of sight in one direction with well-tended orchards in the other. Music and lively conversation could usually be heard even at quite a distance, but today was a more somber occasion. Still, Jaime was surprised to see Brienne’s seeming nonchalance at the overwhelming display.

“Have you visited Highgarden before, Brienne?” Jaime asked. He was trying to cut down on calling her Wench in front of Pod, lest the boy get the wrong idea about how to treat a highborn lady.

She set her mouth in a grim line and nodded. “When I joined Renly. It was here that the knights had their wager with me. I learned then about letting myself be blinded by beauty or bewildered into thinking I was some sort of lady from a storybook.”

“What do you mean? That’s exactly what you are! Your deeds will already make a fine story. In fact,” he donned one of his rarest smiles, a shy one, “I’ve already started on your page in the _White Book_. I’m writing small because I’m certain your worthy feats will be many.”

His kindness hit its mark and chased the brooding expression from her face. She looked outside of herself for a moment and realized that an observer might truly call her accomplishments extraordinary. “Please stay honest,” she said, well aware of how Jaime liked to embellish the truth.

Jaime shrugged. “I’ll be as honest with you as I am with the others. There’s always a bit of sanding away of the rough edges. I even found a few positives for Sandor the Deserter and Arys the Traitor.” Though, of course, the mostly blank page of the Kingslayer resisted his every attempt to fill it.

Willas Tyrell served as governor of the region while Lord Mace was in King’s Landing. His younger brother, Garlan, also lived at Highgarden while gathering forces for his campaign in the Reach. Both brothers were said to be deeply grieving the loss of their younger sibling. Jaime was not at all surprised, then, to see their grandmother, Olenna, waiting to greet the funeral party at the gate. Olenna looked as she always did: small, frail, and utterly indomitable.

Brienne blinked to see the two identical men standing to the left and right of Lady Olenna. Both men were broad shouldered and heavily muscled with handsome auburn mustaches. Finding two people taller than herself was a rare occurrence any day, and these appeared so alike as to boggle the mind.

“My personal guards, Left and Right, are here to help with your baggage and anything you’ve brought of Loras’. I trust I can expect no trouble from noble Kingsguard such as yourselves in this hour of grief.” Olenna’s voice was sharp to the point of rudeness, but she hadn’t targeted her thorns at anyone in particular, a small blessing.

“Lady Olenna, we are at your service and offer our deepest condolences. Of course we do not seek to cause you any inconvenience,” Jaime said, dipping into a low bow.

Brienne bowed her submission as well. Even though Olenna had seemed to like her when they’d met before, she wanted to avoid her infamously incisive wit. While Olenna turned and began to make her halting progress into the castle, Brienne’s mind slowly put together the jape Margaery’s cousin Megga had told a while ago… ‘One day Olenna will be found dead in bed with Left on the right and Right on the left, and the only question will be if she takes them with her.’ Brienne now saw she wasn’t as thick as she’d thought about the wordplay; she just hadn’t known all the characters. She struggled to control an inappropriate grin at the visual.

 

The Silent Sisters required some time to recite their final prayers over Loras’ bones preparing them for their journey to the family tomb. While they discharged their holy duties, and Pod saw to the equipment, Olenna welcomed Brienne and Jaime into the hospitality of Highgarden.

Even armed with the foreknowledge that the Tyrells liked to put on a spectacle, Brienne was amazed by the meal spread out before them. Freshly baked bread and roast lamb were prominently displayed, in accordance with tradition, along with decanters of Arbor Gold. In addition, lining the table were bowls of fresh greens, sliced apples with honey, fireplums, trays of salted nuts, fat golden raisins, more types of melons than she could name, and so much more. Brienne eyes seemed to stutter at the platter of fresh peaches with cream, which should be unobtainable in this season.

Jaime formally filled his plate with a polite amount of food, but Brienne’s self-control slipped entirely. The fruits and green vegetables inspired an emotion in her closer to greed than hunger. If one of the platters had contained gold coins, she’d have passed it by for more spinach and sautéed pears.

“It’s good to see a healthy appetite. Leonette hardly eats anything. She doesn’t know men like a little meat on the bones, isn’t that right Ser Jaime? You should have seen me back in the day. I was never very tall, but tits and ass to spare.”

Jaime had begun to agree when Olenna addressed him, but startled and didn’t know what to say as she continued. It seemed to him that the grand lady of Highgarden may have slipped a cog or two in her wheelhouse. She could be deep in grief, or drunk, or even feigning for some purpose, he supposed. Sifting the genuine from the artful mummery was all part of her charm.

“You should eat as much nutritious fare as you can. In not so many moons, our fields will be blanketed with snow, and you’ll be holed up in the Keep, living on black bread and salted meat, waiting for spring. Awful timing, really.” Olenna carried on talking, turning her attention to Brienne.

“You’re too quiet; it makes me nervous. Tell me something; who is taking Loras’ spot on the Kingsguard?”

“A young knight from House Fowler, Ser Remyn. I don’t know much of him, I’m afraid. The small council chose him,” Brienne said.

“Not the queen regent?” Olenna asked.

“No, um, after me I think they insisted on having some say in the matter.”

“Hmph. Unhappy with your service are they? Don’t bother to answer, dear. Of course they’re not. They’re just terrified their wives will realize how easy their jobs are. If their women start to think they have a choice between whelping a child every year and shuffling papers around or standing guard at a door, which do you suppose they’ll choose? At any rate, if Loras had listened to me, neither one of you would have ended up in the Kingsguard.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told him to marry you, after all that unpleasantness with the trial. He’d be lounging around on Tarth now, befriending young sailors and waiting to become lord of a fine estate. A more than respectable result for a third son. No one listens to the decrepit old lady, however.”

“Loras and I became friendly, but-” Brienne said embarrassed and wrong-footed. She couldn’t speak ill of Loras, but Jaime was _right there_. Her thoughts began to parallel Jaime’s in wondering if Olenna had lost a step with her grandson’s death.

“Oh, he wouldn’t have minded if other of your friends dropped by, especially when it came to generating an heir. Really, wouldn’t it be better to be warm and safe on your own island rather than in the mix with all these nasty political types?”

“I try not to think of what might have been, Lady Olenna. I have my duties, and I am very happy.” She squeezed Jaime’s hand. It wasn’t like their marriage was a secret, and even if it had been, Olenna would have known.

“Do watch yourselves. Fowler is a Dornish house, is it not?”

 

The Silent Sisters entered the private dining room without invitation to signal that Loras’ bones were ready for interment. Unlike servants or even lesser nobility, they knew they would not be chastised for interrupting the gathering. Morbid or not, no one could argue that death would be deterred by a closed door. The Tyrell household and its guests assembled for the descent to the catacombs. As present master of the estate, Willas led the procession down the steep stairs. His brother Garlan followed, ready to grab him should his cane slip. From all Cersei had told Brienne of the Tyrells, she half-expected Garlan to push him. However, the brothers seemed nothing but loving towards one another. Garlan’s wife, Leonette, walked alongside Olenna, giving her an unrequested arm to lean on. The Silent Sisters followed the family with their burden, then came Jaime and Brienne as honor guards, and finally the rest of the household staff.

The tombs could hardly be called beautiful or even comfortable, but sculptors throughout the years had endeavored to present an atmosphere of heroic reverence. Rather than grim, solemn figures, the effigies of the Tyrell ancestors stood in celebratory poses. The men were usually sculpted in battle stances, the women dancing, and the children playing. Loras’ statue had not yet been completed, but Brienne could easily imagine the young knight’s flowing hair, white cloak, and battle grin preserved in marble.

After the ceremony, they all retired to the sitting room to toast and reminisce about Loras. Olenna looked drained, plainly needing Leonette’s help to ascend the stairs. Brienne always felt tongue-tied on these occasions, but Jaime had no such limitations. He spoke easily and generously about Loras’ time in the Kingsguard. In particular, he narrated the events of the Trial of Seven and how crucial Loras had been in proving Margaery’s innocence.

By ones and twos, the other members of the family and staff drifted away until only Olenna remained. Jaime again thought that she looked much weaker than he had ever seen her before. He knew it could be pretense or artifice, but the death of her favored grandson may well have put a crack in her granite foundation. She seemed to weigh her words carefully before she spoke, a change which Jaime found disconcerting in someone whose sharp tongue and quick wit generally kept everyone else on their toes.

“You haven’t arrested anyone yet for Loras’ murder, or I’d have heard,” she stated. There was no actual question, but she left a silence that demanded to be filled.

“No, my lady,” Jaime said. “The gold cloaks have the description of a suspect and are expending every effort to find her. We have increased security on the royal family, especially Queen Margaery.”

“That shows some degree of sense, assuming your guards always work in pairs. I wouldn’t have any of them alone with my granddaughter, except maybe her,” Olenna said gesturing at Brienne. “She’s fundamentally incapable of raising a hand against her sovereign. I told Margaery as much when Renly died. Just make sure you don’t corrupt her. I’m going to send Left and Right to the capital to supplement Margaery’s guard. She needs them more than a harmless old woman like me.”

Jaime winced at the thought of corrupting Brienne. Olenna’s keen insight into fears and weaknesses had clearly not dimmed. “Your guards will be made welcome, and assuming Queen Margaery accepts their protection, they can attend to her.”

“Oh, she’ll accept them,” Olenna said with confidence. “Now, the poison that killed Loras, do you know where his murderer obtained it?” she asked.

“Grandmaester Pycelle believes it to be a rare substance from Asshai,” Jaime replied.

“Wrong. It may have originated in Asshai, but it came from Dorne.”

“Not all poison comes from Dorne,” Jaime said dismissively.

Olenna’s eyes grew shrewd and haughty. “Listen to me or not, young man, but I am telling you with perfect certainty, this poison came from Dorne.”

Jaime realized they were playing a game of cyvasse with the board still hidden. He tried to think it through: _She somehow knows the poison came from Dorne and genuinely wants to help solve Loras’ murder. To be so certain about the poison, she must know that the Dornish – presumably the Martells – were involved the first time it was used too, on Joffrey. Which means she either witnessed the crime and did nothing, or used them as a supplier for a scheme of her own. Both were serious charges of treason and neither quite confessed to yet. Additionally, the Tyrells and Martells already had bad blood between them, so if the Martells killed Loras, she would crave revenge all the more._

“Dorne will always draw suspicion in any matter to do with poison,” Jaime said neutrally, hoping to draw out further information.

“For more reason than you know.” Olenna sighed, weary to her bones of this game she’d been playing since before she flowered. “Tommen is no longer a pliable boy with less years than fingers. He will be under regency until his sixteenth nameday, but his decrees still have force. He is strongly considering naming Margaery as his heir instead of Myrcella, until such time as he has a son of his own, of course.” It had been Olenna's own idea, carefully advanced and kept secret for more than a year. If the Dornish knew, however, the risk now outweighed the reward.

“No one would accept that! The crown has never passed to a wife or anyone not of the king’s blood. Myrcella is King Robert’s true born child,” Brienne said.

Olenna scoffed at the gracelessness of Brienne’s protest. She’d started well enough but petered out at the end. “Best to say ‘acknowledged daughter,’ dear. You’re not convincing when you say ‘true born.’ Though it is a fact that Myrcella is of Tommen’s blood, and – appropriately for a spouse – Margaery is not.”

“Such an order would undo precedent dating back to Jaehaerys the Conciliator,” Brienne said, getting back to the point as smoothly as she could.

“That much is true. Respect for tradition is not why Dorne would protest, though. At present, once Trystane marries Myrcella, then they are but one death away from have a Dornishman as prince consort to the queen. He is three years her elder, and all accounts say she’s smitten with him. He’ll have considerable influence, I’d say. Inside of a year, the court will call him King.”

“We will investigate all the ties to Dorne. But you realize the Dornish have strong positions in the small council now,” Jaime said.

“Yes, yes. Your genius sister uprooted all the roses she didn’t trust and planted vipers in their place. Why she ever thought they could be tamed is a fine question. Mace, the great oaf that he is, turned down a marriage between her and Willas on the grounds that she was too old to give him an heir. Well, we’ve done it his way to astounding failure; now we’ll do it mine. Tell Cersei that we’re on the same side in this. We both want King Tommen and Queen Margaery to have a long and successful reign. Any display of fealty she wants, she can have, including marriage to Willas. Let us put an end to the mistrust before there are any more deaths, because the most likely to come next is my beloved granddaughter.”

Olenna did not have to fake the quaver in her voice. Events had moved far faster than she’d anticipated, and she truly feared for Margaery’s life. Nor did she deceive about her promise to Cersei. She would give any concession she asked… save of course, for admitting that Margaery was Joffrey’s assassin. Even Margaery didn’t know that for certain. Olenna would take that particular secret to her grave, at a time she hoped was still moderately far in the future, with no more of her family arriving ahead of her.

 


	41. Casterly Rock

All the way up the Ocean Road from Highgarden, Jaime regaled Brienne with stories about Casterly Rock. Discovered during the age of heroes and carved from a mountain overlooking the Sunset Sea, it had first been a vast gold mine. As the gold was removed, elaborate passages and chambers were carved in the space left behind. Jaime told of the castle’s storied history, how it had never been conquered by force, and of the great line of kings who once kept their royal court there. He detailed its practical features – deeper dungeons than the Red Keep; higher watch towers than the Wall – and its luxuries, vaults full of trophies and treasures from countless battles. Therefore, when they arrived nearing sunset one evening, Brienne found herself brought up short in surprise. Jaime pointed excitedly to the castle before them, framed by the rosy-hued sky.

“Do you see the way the shadows fall? It’s a lion in response! Can you spot it?” he asked. The smudges of traveling dirt on his face coupled with his gleeful expression made him look childlike despite the three days growth of beard.

Brienne tilted her head to look. It was a rock. A really huge rock. Towering, dominating of the landscape, but just a rock. The few towers that poked out of the top looked more stupid than anything else, frilly touches on a shape that was crude and unlovely no matter what you did with it. Like if she were to wear flowers in her hair. “It’s certainly formidable,” she said as evenly as she could.

Not everyone had the same standards for beauty, Jaime supposed. “It’s far more glorious within. Wait until you see. There’s not one bit of ugliness inside. The gold runs straight through the walls; there’s not even any need for adornment.” He wasn’t at all boasting. Casterly Rock was natural perfection barely tamed into the form of a castle. She didn’t quite seem to understand how special it was.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be more in the spirit for a tour tomorrow. I’m feeling quite tired, and all the travel by the sea has left me a rather homesick.”

“No worries. If my saucy wench wants to head straight for the bedroom, that can be arranged,” he said, finally squeezing a laugh out of her. Pod missed the jape, or at least learned to pretend he had.

 

They entered by the Lion’s Mouth, a natural cavern in the Rock that arched to a height of 200 feet with stairs leading to the castle’s heavily fortified gateway.

“Comes Sers Brienne and Jaime of House Lannister for admission to the Rock,” the Captain of the Guard Vylarr announced confidently. Maester Creylen had assured him that referring to her as Ser was appropriate given that her position in the Kingsguard was her most significant title. He hoped she agreed. She’d scowled at him as she passed under the portcullis. Ser Jaime had smiled; he’d always been a laughing, good-hearted lad, more like Tytos than Tywin.

Lady Sansa waited to greet them in the great hall. Her richly brocaded dress made her truly look the part of the grand lady of the manor. She shattered that image immediately, however, by squealing when the guests came into view.

“Podrick! We were so worried about you! Tyrion sent word that you’d made it back unharmed, but I couldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes. Thank the gods you’re safe!” She rushed past the two celebrated Kingsguard to hug the squire. Jaime gaped comically, unused to being ignored.

“Give thanks to my lady. And S-Ser Jaime. I would have ended my days under a s-slaver’s whip without them,” Pod said.

“Yes, thank you! And welcome home Ser Jaime. Welcome for the first time, Lady Brienne. Would you like some refreshments?” Sansa enjoyed playing hostess; it was the easiest part of her duties. She’d gained a new appreciation for all the times her mother had kept Winterfell running while her father was away. Even with the experienced staff at Casterly Rock, there were many difficult decisions and plenty of room for doubting herself. She could never let uncertainty show, however. Her father always said that a lord who had to remind people he was a lord was no true ruler.

“Actually, Lady Brienne is feeling tired from the journey.”

“I said I was tired, not let’s skip dinner. By all means, Lady Sansa, we’d love a bite to eat. It’s wonderful to see you again.” Sansa looked very well. The West obviously agreed with her far better than the Vale. Her body had matured to a woman’s shape, more matching the keen mind Brienne recalled. She could be a great help to Tyrion now. They would look odd together, perhaps – one so tall and fair, the other not as such – but no longer inappropriate.

 

“Have you heard anything of Ser Kevan since he arrived at the Twins?” Jaime asked once they’d settled around the table. By all accounts, Kevan had taken his demotion from Hand with sullen, ill grace. If he had the men, he might have forcefully objected, but he was a canny enough politician to know that his options were limited. Honestly, Cersei had treated him more mercifully than Jaime expected, perhaps too much so.

“He sends regular reports on crops and fishing. He keeps saying he’d have a higher yield with more men, but I see through that. He can hire men from the villages if he wants. He’s not getting his soldiers back.”

“Well reasoned. Genna and Emmon are more than ready to move in when you depart, I imagine,” Jaime said. His favorite aunt and her Frey husband had been promised Riverrun, but events had transpired to moot that. Had Emmon not been so thoroughly cowed by years of marriage to Genna, Jaime might have worried about his Frey blood crying for vengeance. Now, Jaime was confident he’d be satisfied with meat, mead, and a warm place to sit out the winter.

“Indeed. Emmon would still rather have Riverrun, I think, but Genna knows Casterly is the better choice, especially with winter coming.” Their son, Cleos,[*] would be named heir to the Twins, which mollified Emmon greatly.

“Edmure Tully has taken his place at Riverrun?” Jaime asked casually. He knew he had; it had been a matter of much contention at court. Unlike the Blackfish, Edmure was not an adjudged traitor. However, few expected that he could have much love left for the crown. Many of the small council argued that Edmure’s wife should be held as an honored guest at court to ensure his good behavior. Tyrion had spoken forcefully against the idea, weakening his position as Hand just as he’d assumed the office with suspicions of foreign loyalties.

“Yes, he and Roslin are expecting their first child soon. He’s so happy the child will be born at his homestead,” Sansa said, possibly showing a canny awareness of the circumstances.

A rustic-looking youngster entered the dining room, eyes widening in surprise at the company.

“Have the guest rooms been made ready, Mercy?” Sansa quickly asked the girl. Before hearing the name, Jaime would have guessed boy, but he’d come around on the idea of girls wearing pants.

“Yes, my lady,” the girl replied.

“Then that will be all,” Sansa said with forceful politeness.

“Yes, my lady,” she said, and left the room without so much as curtsying.

“Our men found her in the village near the Twins,” Sansa explained. “She’d lost her parents and had nowhere to go. I thought perhaps we could train her to be a ladies’ maid.”

“I think you may have more luck starting her as a stable hand,” Brienne remarked. “She looks like she’d do better with horses than ladies.”

Sansa’s eyebrows shot up at the astuteness of Brienne’s appraisal. She was more observant than Sansa had given her credit for. Though fortunately, not quite observant enough. “You may have a point there, Lady Brienne.”

 

“Lady Brienne, may I ask you about something personal?” Sansa had offered to escort Brienne to the guest chambers with the excuse that Jaime would want to spend some time narrowing down the best aspects of the castle to show off to his bride tomorrow. In truth, Sansa had a concern she hoped Brienne could ease.

“Yes, my lady, of course you can.”

“You and Ser Jaime married while in Essos, is that right?”

Brienne nodded, hoping against hope she wasn’t about to be enlisted for the wifely duties talk with Lady Sansa. Perhaps hearing that Tyrion had called her to King’s Landing made her nervous.

“Whose idea was it to marry?”

Brienne actually had to think for a moment. “His, I suppose?” she replied uncertainly. It had been a confusing time. He, at least, had been the one to inform her that they were married. If the information had flowed the other way, she may have been too embarrassed to have ever mentioned it.

“But not either of your father’s?”

Brienne snorted in derision. “No, certainly not. I don’t yet know what his father thinks. Mine eventually accepted it after we observed the formalities.”

“Do you think an arranged marriage could be as successful?” Sansa bit her lip. Tyrion was such a dear man. But could she ever love him? She didn’t see them developing the same kind of playful yet respectful relationship the knights demonstrated. Her parents had loved each other, but they were old by the time her memories of them began.

“Oh of course! Most marriages are arranged. What Jaime and I did was highly irregular, in so many ways.”

“But that’s what makes it wonderful! You risked everything and married for love! It could be a story from a song, like Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. From the first time I saw you together, I knew you were in love. I'd never be disloyal, but I still wish I could be with someone who took my breath away at one glance.”

Brienne shook her head, trying to control her wild, disbelieving grin. “Lady Sansa, do you know how Jaime and I met? Your brother’s men threw us in the same dungeon.” Brienne paused to nod at Sansa’s gape-mouthed response. “It’s true. And, gods, we hated each other at first. We fought so constantly the guards would throw buckets of water on us to shut us up. It was nothing like love at first sight. The love came much, much later, and so slowly that I didn’t really notice it happening. It’s what you go through together that bonds you.”

“Yes, my septa always said, marital love is a deeply rooted tree, not a flower, blooming one day and gone the next,” Sansa recited. She seemed disappointed by the conventional wisdom behind Brienne’s advice.

“Listen, you and Tyrion have more in common than you probably realize. He is nowhere near as handsome as you, true enough. Not unlike myself and Jaime, if we’re being honest with each other. However, he has a quick and clever mind, like you do. He understands power and court politics intuitively, also like you. Not everyone can do that; I certainly can’t. I believe once you get past the exterior, you could help one another a great deal. The union of Lord Lannister of Casterly Rock and Sansa Stark, the rightful heir to Winterfell, could do a great deal to unite the realm.”

“I thought you said you weren’t good at politics,” Sansa remarked. Brienne’s ability to perceive the most righteous outcome was perhaps not exactly what Sansa wanted to hear, but she understood it to be an honest effort at helping her resolve her question.

 

The next morning, Jaime delighted in showing Brienne around Casterly Rock. She forced herself to manufacture some enthusiasm for mining history and antiquities from centuries-old battles. In retrospect, Jaime’s sentimental streak would be adorable; she just had to get through the day. Some of the views were impressive, and she admired the skill with which the delvers incorporated windows and light into the important rooms. Becoming lost in the many twisty passages would have been a concern without Jaime’s expert guidance. Brienne had found the Red Keep confusing at first, but at least there, the corridors had been designed by architects, not miners chasing a vein of gold.

Her favorite stop on the tour was Jaime’s childhood bedroom. That Cersei’s had been completely on the other side of the castle passed without comment. The room had seen little use since Jaime left to squire for Ser Sumner Crakehall at age eleven. It was quite tidy, but Brienne noticed some childish amusements tucked away.

“I used to hide my practice sword here.” Jaime indicated a hard-to-spot niche in the wall. “I’d get up before dawn to practice while my hands were still fresh.” Later, his hands would be cramped from the tedious text copying exercises he’d be forced to complete before being allowed to practice sword or lance. The maester insisted that repeated writing would do no good, that the newest studies showed the problem to be a defect in the eyes, but Tywin wouldn’t accept the idea that nothing could be done to improve Jaime’s facility with words. So every day, Jaime copied stories about knights of legend until he’d made a perfect rendition and was released to the training yard.

“Are these your wooden knights and horses?” Brienne asked.

Jaime smiled sadly. “No, I believe they were Tyrion’s. We would play together on occasion. He probably brought them in here to pretend he was playing with me. I should have thought more on him once I moved away. He must have been so lonely here; no friends and everyone calling him a monster.”

“You were just a boy yourself. Besides, I can tell how much he loves you. There’s no bitterness in his heart towards you.”

Jaime knew that there should be. His brother would have plenty reason to hate him if he knew what he’d allowed Tywin to force him into regarding Tyrion’s first wife. It was one of the reasons he’d told Brienne to sign her name as Brienne Lannister in the letter she wrote to the Lord Commander. Then, he’d written his own, a brief note informing Tywin of his marriage, Tommen’s decree, and the fact that he expected his bride to be treated with the respect owed a Lannister. He’d never stood up to his father so plainly before. It left him weak in the knees at first, then nearly overcome with euphoria. Tywin would never cause him to betray someone he loved again.

 

Maester Creylen brought the raven’s scroll into the courtyard. The party traveling to King’s Landing had assembled there: Jaime, Brienne, Podrick, and Sansa. Creylen paused only briefly before handing to letter to Lady Sansa. His chief loyalty was to House Lannister, and blood or not, Ser Jaime had left stewardship of House Lannister behind when he joined the Kingsguard. Protocol dictated Lady Sansa receive the correspondence even if she is only a Lannister by marriage and a woman besides.

Sansa opened the message and read it while everyone watched her. She felt the weight of their stares and knew that the color was dropping out of her face. She forced herself to swallow her fears and speak calmly to Creylen. If she looked like a weak little girl now, she’d never be able to lead House Lannister in the future. “Send ravens to our allies up the coast warning them of this. The Twins as well, and also Highgarden. Not Winterfell, of course.” Winterfell was still held by House Bolton. She’d sooner see it burn again than help them.

“Yes, Lady Lannister.”

Only then did she bring the message to Jaime and Brienne. It read: “Be advised, Ironborn longships have attacked the Shield Islands in unprecedented numbers, one hundred strong at least. All four islands have fallen. Reavers running unchecked across the lands. Urgent need for men and ships.”

“We have no ships of note to send,” she told Jaime and Brienne. “I will call up the Lannister army to garrison castles down the coast, but there is not much they can do against Ironborn in ships. We need the fleet that Admiral Redwyne took east during the war.”

“Just as well that her father is the new Lord of Ships,” Jaime said, putting an arm around Brienne. “We can send a message to King’s Landing and turn the fleet toward the Summer Sea.”

“This can’t be Yara’s Ironborn,” Brienne said. “They must be her uncle Euron’s followers. She didn’t give Daenerys the impression he was this strong.”

“Shocking; a Greyjoy was less than fully honest with an ally. We in the west are painfully aware of the way the Ironborn operate. I expect Yara wouldn’t have fled if she thought she had the numbers to win in a fair fight. Considering the ships she brought to Essos… a hundred for Euron sounds about right.”

“Can the royal fleet defeat that many?” Some of the newly build vessels were powerful warships indeed, but not as agile as the longships.

“They would scatter usual Ironborn raids. We will have to see if this larger fleet has a more sophisticated strategy.”

 

Sansa approached Jaime once the group got underway toward King’s Landing. Brienne had ridden ahead to show Pod the basic points of scouting, so Sansa took the opportunity to ask for another perspective on the matter of love.

“Ser Jaime, I hope you don’t find this impertinent, but since I asked something similar of Lady Brienne, I thought I would ask you as well. What did you think of Lady Brienne when you first met?”

“Oh gods, what did she say about me?”

Sansa had to hide a grin at his reflexive vanity. “I’ll tell you after you tell me what you thought about her.”

“Well, I found her absurd. A woman in men’s plate and mail, trying to play at war. I couldn’t decide if she was insane or simple. She even claimed to be my equal at swordplay.”

“Isn’t she?”

“That’s beside the point.”

Sansa mustered her courage. “I was terrified of Tyrion when I first met him. I believed the court gossip about Tywin’s Doom, I’m ashamed to say. Since then, though, he’s shown me nothing but kindness, and… and respect. I wondered if…”

“If you could ever love him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. You can. If you open your heart to him, you will.”

Sansa looked up in astonishment at his unvarnished answer. Brienne, for once, had been much more verbose.

“In fact, if you’re anything like me, you’ll soon find yourself asking what you did to deserve him,” Jaime continued. Admittedly, both he and Brienne had asked themselves that question a lot at the beginning as well, but there’d been more sarcasm involved then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*] Cleos Frey survived the War of the Five Kings since he did not die helping Jaime and Brienne elude Robb Stark’s men.


	42. King's Landing XVII - New Arrivals

Sansa pinched her cheeks and nibbled on her lips to bring out some color as the travelers passed through the streets of King’s Landing to enter the Red Keep. She anticipated that there would be a number of people waiting to welcome them home, and she hoped Tyrion would be among them.

She watched as Jaime and Brienne dismounted and turned their horses over to Pod. Brienne hugged a tall, fair-haired man who could only be her father. Jaime approached rather stiffly and clasped hands with him before proceeding toward the White Tower. Sansa continued to cast her gaze around the grounds in search of her husband.

“Lady Sansa Stark,” a familiar voice rang out. Sansa turned to see her former host, Petyr Baelish, walking her way. He extended a hand to aid her dismount, and she took it gratefully. If Lord Baelish had any ill intentions towards her, surely they would have surfaced during the time she spent at the Eyrie.

“It’s Lady Lannister now,” she corrected him. On the other hand, he did keep repeating that error.

“My apologies. You so resemble your mother,” he replied.

“Lord Baelish, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to King’s Landing?” Sansa hadn’t expected to see him out of the Vale since she’d heard reports that the Eyrie was closed in anticipation of winter.

“Sansa!” a young voice cried. Feeble arms wrapped themselves around her waist, and a dark head buried itself in her belly. Soon, the face of Robin Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East, looked up at her. His runny eyes and sallow complexion had not improved since she left the Vale with Tyrion. “Lord Petyr said you’d be here, but we arrived days ago. The air is bad, and there’s not even a puppet man. I want to go home. You’ll come home with me, Sansa, won’t you?”

Petyr forced a laugh. “He still doesn’t accept that the Eyrie must remain closed until the conclusion of winter. None of the other castles in the Vale suited his standards. I didn’t know what I could do to please him. Then, I realized he and King Tommen are of a like age. Having the Lord of the Vale and our good King forge closer ties could only help the stability of the realm.”

Sansa nearly gasped. She supposed she knew in the back of her mind that Robin and Tommen were close in age. However, Tommen was growing tall and fair. Even his tendency toward chubbiness was waning as he was allowed greater access to the training yard. He could be naive, but Margaery was teaching him to exercise greater authority. By the time his regency was complete, Sansa felt he would make a fine ruler. That Robin could be almost the same age didn’t seem possible. He was smaller and weaker, certainly, but more important than that, he was childish and mercurial, given to flights of fancy and daydreams that bordered on delusional. He should never be allowed authority over anyone. His father must rest uneasily in his grave to know that the ancient line of Arryn had come to such an end.

Sansa’s dark thoughts were interrupted by a tug on her cloak. Tyrion had made his way to her side. “I’m sorry sweetling. Someone waylaid the messenger who was supposed to tell me that your group had arrived,” he said loudly to be heard over the din.

Sansa surprised Tyrion by stooping to envelop him into an embrace. “It’s no trouble my lord. Young Lord Arryn kept me safe from the press of the crowd.” Robin might not complain that she pulled away if he believed she appreciated him. Sansa suspected that he’d spent the days between his arrival and hers badgering Tyrion with the idea that he and Sansa would be wed someday. If she had her way, she would see very little of Robin Arryn after today.

“Would you like some refreshments?” Tyrion asked. He’d practically been hopping from one foot to the other in nervousness about their reunion. He and Sansa developed a cordial relationship during his stay at Casterly Rock, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take being ordered to the capital. He rather wished he’d had Brienne to discuss it with. She could be a bit of a plank, but she tended to have a nice, level-headed view of matters when they concerned anyone other than his siblings.

“Honestly, I just a want a nice stationary chair to sit on. Jaime and Brienne rode like they were in a race.”

Tyrion nodded with a grin, reflecting that they probably were. A bit of competition tended to work its way into most of what they did, from training to eating to other things best not speculated about.

“Though, I wouldn’t turn down tea and lemon cakes,” Sansa added.

“I believe I have just what you need,” Tyrion said, offering her his arm. Huh. Preparing the lemon cakes had been Cersei’s idea. Could she be acting non-hatefully towards him? The idea seemed not to fit properly into his head. Perhaps he was missing a trap, or his wits were failing, or the aforementioned competition was leaving Cersei in a good humor.

 

Brienne disentangled herself from her father’s strong embrace. He had barely assumed his office as the new Lord of Ships before major decisions became necessary. The royal fleet, mainly stolen by Stannis before the war and decimated in the Battle of the Blackwater, had been steadily improved and rebuilt. Ten new dromonds provided its backbone. The largest of these, _Sweet Cersei,_ sported twice as many oars as the prior flagship, _King Robert’s Hammer_. Brienne suspected this was far from coincidental.

Lord Selwyn had received messages from Brienne and Jaime, among others, about Ironborn attacks in the west. However, he’d lived long enough to remember tales of the Ironborn kings who, dissatisfied with raiding the meager villages of the coastline, would sail their longships up the Mander to attack the Reach. From his best consideration of the maps, he concluded that the only strategic reason to lay waste to the Shield Islands would be for access to the Mander. The largest royal dromonds couldn’t navigate the river, so he had sent the Redwyne fleet and two of the smaller new ships. He was left to pray that his first major decision wouldn’t be remembered as a terrible lapse of judgment.

“You appear tired, Daughter. How was the ride from Casterly?”

“The roads are clear to the west, but the weather is turning. We pushed ourselves to arrive here before dusk. None of us looked forward to another cold night spent away from home.”

“There’s a man from the Night’s Watch who is waiting to speak with you. I told him you were expected today, but I can have him return in the morning.”

“No, no. I’d just as soon get it done now. Tomorrow, I hope that my duties will begin to return to normal.” Normal was perhaps too much to ask of King’s Landing, but a nice, predictable routine would suit her quite well for a time.

Brienne met the black brother in Selwyn’s office. He was younger than she expected, barely a man grown, yet he introduced himself as Jon Snow, First Steward of the Night’s Watch. Brienne could see now that the Watch’s cries for additional men must not be entirely exaggerated.

“My Lady, the Lord Commander ordered me to deliver this into your hand.” The young man passed Brienne a letter marked with the seal of the Night’s Watch. Brienne opened it to read:

> Dear Lady Lannister,  
>  I understand your interest in the location of the rebel army. Unfortunately, as the Watch is forbidden from taking sides in a conflict within the realms, I cannot divulge any information about the position of Lord Stannis or his troops. I can only note that they are no longer encamped at Castle Black or indeed any of the Watch’s holdings. I send my steward, Jon Snow, in hopes that this letter find its way safely to you. My best to you and your lord husband.  
>  Lord Commander Tywin Lannister.

From the salutation, Brienne could feel her guts start to squirm. The former Lord Lannister seemed to be insinuating that Jaime should be Lord Lannister now instead of Tyrion. None of the Lannister family dynamics were uncomplicated, it seemed. At least he hadn’t expressed disapproval of her and Jaime’s union. However, he’d essentially given her no information… but he had sent her a young steward to interrogate. His time in the Watch had done precious little to dull Tywin’s edge, it seemed.

“Thank you, Lord Snow,” she said.

The steward gave Brienne a self-deprecating smile. “It’s just Jon, my lady. Some of the lads do call me Lord Snow, but as a joke because I was raised at Winterfell and can read and write and all that.”

_Oh, that Snow. Ned Stark’s bastard_ , Brienne realized. “Winterfell is now held by the Boltons, is that right?” Brienne asked off-handedly. Winterfell was her first guess at where Stannis would attempt to burrow in for the winter. His army should be able to defeat the Boltons if her rough estimations for their followers held true.

“Aye, the Boltons and the Freys. A whole bunch of Freys were trapped in the north when the Lannister army took the Twins.” Jon looked Brienne up and down, wondering if he’d said too much.

“I have no influence over the Lannister army,” Brienne said. “As Kingsguard, my only interests are protecting the royal family and promoting stability in the realms. Are there any… instabilities brewing in the north?”

“No, not like you mean anyway. Winter is setting in faster than expected. Everyone’s going to hunker down where they are.”

_Where had Stannis gone?_ The question pulsed between them. Sending Jon Snow was a clue, Brienne knew. Tywin Lannister could not truly be neutral on the subject of whether his grandson or Stannis should sit the Iron Throne. Jaime was surely correct that Stannis would put the entire royal family to the sword as traitors or abominations. _What would Stannis have done while at Castle Black?_ Suddenly, it clicked. “Did Stannis offer to make you Lord of Winterfell if you’d rally the northern houses for him?” she asked.

Jon nodded his head so curtly she might have imagined it.

Brienne lowered her voice. “You couldn’t, of course. Your vows forbade it. I understand.” She captured his eyes to show would have done the same. Brienne kept trying to puzzle it out. _Tywin wouldn’t let him stay at Castle Black, his army eating through their supplies. The north is inhospitable. The southeast belongs to the Boltons all the way to Winterfell._ “Southwest. What’s southwest of the Wall?” she asked.

“The mountain clans,” Jon replied. “They tend to keep out of southern matters, but they find Starks treat them more honorably than Boltons.”

“I see. Is there a shelter for a gathering of any size in that region?” It wasn’t her most diplomatically asked question, but then again, the young steward didn’t seem any better at this than she.

“Deepwood Motte. It’s not strong, but it’s good sized and well provisioned.”

Deepwood Motte. It was further north than Winterfell and would be difficult to reach in winter, but at least now she knew. Stannis would meet his fate at Deepwood Motte. It even matched the damned vision of him leaning for support on a tree within a dense forest. Well, he’d given her what she needed; time to return the favor. “How about the Watch? Is it well provisioned or did my good-father send you with a shopping list?”

“Men, arms, and food, my lady, as ever.”

Brienne would make sure he was generously treated on this occasion. She allowed herself to relax a bit and celebrate a key step towards her goal.

 

Cersei cuddled closer to Brienne, enjoying how the late morning sunlight enriched her pale complexion to a golden glow. They’d ended up back in bed after breakfast, and Brienne was proving an annoyingly sound sleeper with her belly full of oatcakes and bacon. Cersei ran an arm down her long, bare flank and then stopped. She peeked beneath the covers.

“Brienne.”

“Brienne.”

_No way_ , was Brienne’s first waking thought. She and Jaime had been lovingly welcomed home last night. Then she’d been invited to guard the queen’s bedchamber this morning. She did not have the energy for another go.

“I’m tired, Cersei,” she mumbled.

“I’m not surprised. Brienne, open your eyes,” Cersei ordered.

Brienne obliged her queen. Cersei prompted her to examine their naked forms lying side by side. As usual, Brienne wanted to shrink from the comparison.

“Do you see it?” Cersei asked.

“No,” Brienne said and tried, however briefly, to close her eyes once more.

Cersei poked her awake again, then traced a finger along Brienne’s belly which pooched out a little and her own which was flat. “Now?”

“Everyone gains weight before winter,” Brienne said reflexively as if to chase away any alternative explanations.

Cersei paused a beat so as not to laugh. “How long has it been?”

“Since?”

“Since you had moon’s blood.” Cersei struggled to keep a rein on her tongue. Maybe Jaime wasn’t the dumbest Lannister.

“Volantis?” Brienne replied uncertainly. She reluctantly let go of the idea of a nap and looked into Cersei’s disconcertingly excited eyes.

“Brienne! That was more than three turns ago!”

“Oh. Well, we’ve been traveling so much. I – I never had to keep track before.”

_She understands now, surely,_ Cersei thought. “Is it moving yet?”

“No! What are you talking about? There’s nothing… no.”

“So you’re probably not quite half-way. That’s good; it gives you some time to prepare.” Cersei shook her head incredulously at Brienne’s blank expression. “You’re having a child,” she explained, on the off chance Brienne had any doubt about it.

“I am not!” Brienne denied.

“As you say. Then I say you have ten fingers. Long, luscious, golden hair. Bounteous breasts.” Cersei made a show of a close inspection. “Hmm, no. Seems you can’t make something true just by saying it.”

“I feel sick.”

Cersei fixed her with a pointed stare.

“Not for that reason! But I do suddenly feel very sick.”

“Well, go take another look at your breakfast, then we’ll talk about it.”

“I will not.” Brienne sat up and forced herself to relax. Gradually, her stomach unclenched. That weird, squirmy feeling was back, though, and it was getting harder to ignore.

“Gods, you’re contrary.”

“I can’t be with child, Cersei. I have to go north. I know where Stannis is encamped now. I should leave right away. The weather’s only going to get worse. I’ve already dallied here longer than I should’ve.”

Cersei realized she was going to have to take this step by step. She paused a moment to remind herself of Brienne’s many wonderful qualities, because having a surplus of brains certainly isn’t one of them.

“Just because it's inconvenient doesn't mean it's not true. Let’s think this through together. You’re about four turns along. Pregnancy starts to get cumbersome around six. That’s two moons to get to his camp, which might be reasonable in good weather. However, reports say that the roads are impassible beyond the neck, so that’s trudging through snow drifts, a couple of miles a day, say. Now assuming you don’t freeze or starve, you make it there when you’re seven or eight turns along. You somehow fight and defeat a seasoned military commander and his honor guard. Then you escape, start for home, and give birth in a snow bank somewhere. You see this is impossible, right? Even you can admit that?”

“I can’t be with child,” Brienne repeated. It was a comforting idea she’d like to hang on to despite the compelling logic of Cersei’s observations.

“From what I’ve seen, you really can. And knowing Jaime’s inability to exercise any care at all, I shouldn’t have even been surprised.”

That squelched Brienne’s protest about Jaime vowing to sire no child. This would be the fourth time he’d broken that particular vow. “Oh,” she whispered as all the denial came tumbling down. It only took once, her septa had told her in mixed shades of horror and disgust after she’d flowered. It had happened considerably more times than once.

“What do I do?”

“There’s really not much to do for the next few moons. After you get big enough to be awkward, you’ll want to rest more and be off your feet. We can arrange that, don’t worry. There are plenty of wet nurses and midwives for when the child arrives,” Cersei watched Brienne’s face closely. “Unless. You’re too far along for moon tea to work, but tansy might. That would require a massive dose and be quite dangerous, though.”

“No, I’ll carry it through. You know me. I'll do my duty. But is there a way to make the birth less dangerous? My mother died not long after giving birth; yours as well. What if I don't survive?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Cersei smoothly lied. Death in childbed was naturally the foremost concern of any first time mother. “You could birth a calf through those hips.” _Which is barely enough, considering the size of her and Jaime_ , she considered.

“If something does go wrong, though, will you be a mother to the baby? For me?”

Cersei had to pull Brienne into an embrace to hide her sudden tears. Some shows of love were too profound to meet eye to eye. “Yes, of course. I swear it. I’ll treat the child as if it were my own.”’

 


	43. King's Landing XVIII - Expecting

“Brienne has something to tell you,” Cersei told Jaime. He’d met Cersei at her chambers to provide her official escort to lunch. She’d been acting odd and secretive ever since, and he knew that was rarely a good sign.

“Is it serious?” he asked.

“It’s important. I want you to give her your full attention, let her say her piece, and then – this is the important part – don’t be too overwhelming. You know it takes her a little time to get used to new ideas. She’s still grappling with this.”

“What in the seven hells have you put into her head?” Jaime muttered through gritted teeth. They were passing by some servants, so he didn’t want to get into any speculative details. Brienne and Cersei spent the entire morning together though, and Cersei always had a broad imagination.

“It’s more about something you’ve… Never mind. Just listen to her. Think before you speak for a change.”

When they arrived at the dining room, Brienne was already seated and eating, her plate and trencher filled. Whatever it was, it hadn’t hurt her appetite.

“I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll take a tray back to my rooms. Don’t worry; I can find the way without being assassinated. You two talk,” Cersei said. She gave them each a quick peck on the cheek before departing.

“What new mystery is this?” Jaime asked. He kept his tone light, but frankly Cersei’s dramatics could be exhausting.

Brienne fidgeted, clearly trying to find a way to start the conversation. _She looks fairly vulnerable without her armor,_ Jaime thought. _By the way, why isn’t she wearing her armor?_

“Just say it, Brienne. You can tell me anything.”

“Jaime, there is to be a child,” Brienne said.

Jaime actually opened his mouth to say _Cersei’s pregnant?_ Fortunately, that pause Cersei told him to take made all the difference. The situation came together in his mind. “You – you have a little lion cub in your belly?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” Brienne said. She still didn’t feel much different, but she could hardly call herself uncertain. Earlier in the afternoon, Cersei had summoned a well-respected midwife to prove her point. The woman barely had to do more than look.

“I hope that makes you as happy as it makes me,” Jaime said, projecting warmth through his smile. His imagination started to explode with the possibilities, and a removed part of his mind saw what Cersei meant about being overwhelming. Thoughts of sword practices, riding lessons, and paying tailors exorbitant amounts of coin for miniature noble garments flooded Jaime’s daydreams. It was all he could do not to tear up at the idea of a tiny voice calling him Father. He couldn’t determine yet who their child would most resemble, but he hoped it would have her eyes and his charm. Or her pureness of heart and his golden curls. Or his swordarm and her… also swordarm.

Brienne shifted with anxiety. Jaime had taken her hand and stared into her eyes but not said much of anything, which was so unlike him. “What are you thinking?” she asked. At least he said he was pleased; she still harbored the irrational worry that he’d be horrified to have made a baby with someone like her.

“I was thinking how bright our future looks and how happy everyone is going to be for us. Especially your father. Mine as well, if he’ll allow himself to realize it. Have you given any thought to names yet?”

In fact, the first step on Brienne’s journey to acceptance had been to start considering possible names. “If it’s a girl, I thought perhaps we’d name her after one of our mothers, or both if we squeezed the names together. If it’s a boy, perhaps Galladon or Tyrion.”

“Tyrion? Did he fuck him into you?”

“No, of course not,” she began, shocked, until she realized the point of his joke, “Oh, you’d have us call him Jaime?”

“Well, maybe not Jaime, but Jaison? Jaimadon? How does it go in your family?”

“Usually -wyn for boys and -enne for girls.”

“Jaiwyn isn’t bad. Jaienne needs a little work. I’m sure we’ll find something perfect, though.” He strode over to sit on her side of the bench. Tentatively, he placed a hand onto her belly.

“I don’t believe you can feel anything yet.”

Jaime thought that just maybe he could. He wouldn’t contradict her for the world, though, remembering how sensitive Cersei could be during these times. Brienne was feeling a little apprehensive, he could tell; by the birth or motherhood itself, he couldn’t be sure. He would ask, but what warrior asks his fellow comrade at arms if he’s scared?

“Everything is going to be fine,” he said, providing all-purpose reassurance. She may have complicated feelings, but truly, this was wonderful news.

“You think so?”

“I do. I really, honestly do.” Jaime pulled her close in a one-armed embrace. Not long afterward, they both jumped at the feel of what was most definitely a kick.

 

“Hello Tyrion.” Brienne had lingered in the garden, contriving to run into him. Sansa mentioned that he always brought her fresh flowers at tea time, so she figured he’d have to come this way.

“Brienne, you’re looking chipper today.”

Brienne paused a moment to evaluate Tyrion. Chipper would seem to describe him as well, and she was fairly certain that was a new doublet. “You as well. I believe having Sansa nearby has done wonders for your attitude.”

Tyrion couldn’t hide his broad grin. “Things have been going well. Very, very well.” He didn’t want to provide ungentlemanly details, but then again, Brienne was hardly a proper lady.

She faked a scandalized gasp. “Am I to understand there are no more maiden Lannisters about?”

“The breed is as extinct as the merlings,” he confirmed.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Brienne said. She couldn’t entirely resist turning her news into a bit of one-upmanship. “I’m still ahead of you, though. You’re to be an uncle again.”

“No,” he said, eyes going wide in disbelief and joy.

“I’m afraid so. The midwife says I’ll start growing rapidly soon. The chestplate of my armor is already starting to feel snug around my middle.” She still bet she’d have been north of the Twins before she admitted it, if Cersei hadn’t noticed. Maybe further if Jaime had come along to keep her distracted.

“How did Jaime take it?” Tyrion asked. _And Cersei_ , he didn’t ask.

“He was very pleased. I think he nearly burst trying to hold in everything he wanted to say so as not to startle me. I imagine everyone he’s passed by since has found out.” Which was tantamount to shouting ‘I broke my vows’ from the top of the White Tower, but never mind.

Tyrion laughed. “Yes, that’s probably true. He’ll be… he’ll be moved, I think, profoundly moved, to have a true born child he can acknowledge and fully be a part of its life.”

“Yes, I’m happy for him. I – Tyrion, do you think I can do this? What do I know about being a mother? I don’t even remember my mother.” Brienne asked in a rush. She could hear the edge of panic tightening up her voice. In the back of her mind, she knew this was why she’d been so desperate to find Tyrion. He was always a helpful confidant. She trusted him to help her navigate a way out of the frightening circle of reasoning that said because she had no memories of her mother, she wouldn’t know how to treat her own child.

“Now, be calm. There’s no better place for you to be than here. You’ll have Jaime, Lord Selwyn, me, Sansa, Cersei.” Tyrion managed to slide Cersei’s name in there without even flinching. Say what he would about her – and he’d said plenty – she did love her children. “There are midwives, maesters, wet nurses, nannies, tutors; any help you want, we can get.” He flashed her his most reassuring smile. “You won’t need any help to love the little one, though, Brienne. You’re the most loving person I know. It comes off you like rays of sunlight. Frankly, it’s almost disconcerting for someone who grew up in our household. No wonder Jaime was so drawn to you.”

“Really?” she asked quietly.

“Look at where you hands are,” he said.

Brienne looked down to see them folded protectively around her middle.

“You love it already. Don’t you?”

“Yes. I – yes. It kicked a little this morning.”

“Well, you better get used to that. Feel free to come guard the couch in my office if you need a rest during the day. And I should say, for House Lannister, the Ty- naming convention is, I feel, the most respectable, coupled with the suffix from your family, of course.”

“We’re not naming it Tywyn or Tyrienne!” Brienne said, realizing she was going to have this discussion over and over for the next several moons.

 

The tall guards Olenna Tyrell had named Left and Right (but were more properly Erryk and Arryk), followed Margaery everywhere. Brienne had to admit that they kept harsher duty hours than even her Kingsguard brethren. According to rumor, they were proving very popular among the Tyrell cousins, and charmed with their well-honed wits as much as their good looks during their off hours. Currently relieved of duty by Cersei, Brienne asked leave to approach her king and queen with some news. The twins stood aside to allow the lady Kingsguard to pass.

Tommen and Margaery sat in their solar. Margaery read a book aloud that sounded like it dealt with historical analyses of battle tactics. Tommen appeared to be paying more attention to his kittens playing before the fireplace.

“My king; my queen,” Brienne bowed.

“Lady Brienne, please be at ease,” Margaery said. Brienne had been the subject of an urgent missive from her grandmother, urging her to forge closer relations. Perhaps she was being overprotective, as with sending Erryk and Arryk, but Olenna’s sense of the political undercurrents should never be taken lightly.

“Your majesties, I am in a unique situation for a Kingsguard having to do with my fitness for duty. I felt it best to lay the matter before you and see what you wished to be done.”

“What’s the matter? Did you catch an illness on the road? Mother always says I must bundle up for travel,” Tommen said. Brienne noticed that his voice occasionally hit squeaky high notes and random low ones.

“No Sire, thank you for your concern. The news, in many – most ways – is good. I am to have a child. The near future, of course, because of that, may see me impaired-” Queen Margaery surprised Brienne by nearly tackling her into a hug. The young queen was stronger than she looked.

“Oh Lady Brienne! I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. It wasn’t… I didn’t plan-”

“Men plan; the gods laugh. Goodness, what a promising warrior this will be! You should name her after Visenya the Great. Or, what’s your suffix for boys, -wyn? Renwyn, after our lost hero of the Stormlands.” Margaery saw her words hit their mark in the softening of Brienne’s expression towards her. Grandmama was right as usual; Brienne had never entirely gotten over Renly’s death. Showing that she’d felt something too was the beginning of a crucial bridge between them.

“I’m to have a little cousin?” Tommen asked. Brienne quickly traced the family tree in her head – the publicly accepted version anyway – and concluded he was correct.

“Yes, Sire.”

“When will it come? Will it be raised at court? Will it be trained as a knight, whether it’s a boy or girl?”

“Now, now, my love,” Margaery broke in, seeing Brienne’s discomfort at the flood of questions. “Lady Brienne hasn’t made every decision yet. Babies take quite a while to be born. She’ll have time to figure it all out.” Margaery turned to her. “And don’t you worry. Grandmama sent Sers Erryk and Arryk here to watch over us. They may not be Kingsguard, but I trust them completely. In a few turns, we’ll make sure most of your guarding duties involve sitting with me at my sewing circle.

“We’ll make an exception!” Margaery said before Brienne could even begin her protest that a Kingsguard must never sit in the presence of her sovereign.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Brienne wondered if she’d rushed to judgment on Margaery. The generous, open-hearted young woman before her bore no resemblance to the cold, manipulative opportunist she’d once imagined her to be.

 

Selwyn Tarth’s office looked out onto the Blackwater Rush. The harbor had slowly, painfully, been cleared of debris since the defense of King’s Landing from Stannis’ attack. Finally, it was open to even the largest of galleons once again, and trade with the east fully resumed. Just in time, those of a cynical bent would note, for the Ironborn to become ambitious again along the western coast. Selwyn’s face hovered close to the maps, adjusting his predictions for when the fleet he’d sent west would arrive to account for the latest news of the weather.

Brienne watched her father for a moment, wondering if she could find a diplomatic way to present him with a Myrish magnifying lens. “Father, may we speak?” she asked.

“Of course, my dear. Come in. You’ve saved me from straining my eyes over these wretched maps. I nearly ordered the captains of the fleet to waste a day navigating around what turned out to be a nick in the parchment.”

“Father, I have some good news.” Brienne had taken it into her heart that the news was good. She’d started to entertain fantasies of how her future might include a little boy who looked like Jaime playing in the surf or a tall girl who looked like Cersei riding a pony.

“I could use some good news, daughter. Let’s hear it.”

“I’m to bear a child. I saw the midwife this afternoon and she confirmed it.”

Selwyn hadn’t even dared hope it could happen so quickly. He ran from behind his desk to clasp his daughter’s arms. “You wouldn’t joke with an old man about something like that, would you? Oh how marvelous! In seven turns or so we’ll get to see the next Evenstar? Glorious! Perhaps we’ll be lucky and winter will have run its course by then.” Taking in her concerned expression, Selwyn modified. “Oh, but have no fear, even if not, you were a winter baby. I dare say they grow up healthy and strong indeed.”

“It’ll be closer to five turns than seven,” she admitted. At Selwyn’s blink of surprise she added, “I didn’t know!”

_Well,_ Selwyn considered, _Galladon had been closer to being a Storm than that_. “So, have you thought about names?”

Fortunately, a page arrived, interrupting Brienne before she said something rude.

“Lord Tarth, a message has arrived from Mace Tyrell at Storm’s End,” the page said, proffering a letter. Lord Tyrell had successfully ousted Stannis’ isolated followers from the castle and defended it for the Crown ever since.

Lord Tarth’s brow furrowed at reading the letter. “More Ironborn. In the east this time. Surely they can’t have made their way around all the watchtowers of Dorne with no word. Not to mention past the ships I sent west. There must be another explanation.”

“How many did Lord Tyrell spot?” Brienne asked. “Was it a hundred or more like a dozen?”

“About a dozen,” Selwyn said, “flying the Greyjoy banners.”

“Have they attacked anywhere?”

“Not yet, but Lord Tyrell is going to launch the ships he has to meet them.”

“Be careful,” Brienne said. “I think we’re about to stumble into the middle of an Ironborn civil war. Those sound to me more like the Ironborn I encountered in Essos rather than those that attacked the Shield Islands. If so, they might be looking for an alliance with the Crown, not to open a conflict with us.”

“I’m sure Lord Tyrell won’t be overly aggressive.”

“It’s not that long a ride to Storm’s End. I should go. I know their captain, assuming it’s the ones I met before.”

“No, you can’t go. Not now. I’ll send-”

“I will not ignore my duties! These sorts of negotiations are part of being a member of the Kingsguard. I know Captain Greyjoy better than anyone else here. If we need someone to meet with her, I’m the best suited to do so.”

“I won’t risk-“ Selwyn took one look at Brienne’s determined face (so like her mother’s) and sighed. “Take Ser Jaime with you, then. I need to know that someone who loves you is watching out for you.” _And the little Evenstar._

 


	44. Storm's End

The journey to investigate the Ironborn presence off Storm’s End had an auspicious beginning. Jaime and Brienne rode from King’s Landing in warm, fair weather. A few late wildflowers still dotted the byways, and as they traveled further south, most of the trees still had their leaves. Though the eight knights who accompanied them remained encased within their plate armor, Jaime soon joined Brienne in stripping to riding leathers. After all, this is the Kingsroad. If any bandits felt bold enough to ambush a dozen armed knights and their squires, they would soon be served an overdue lesson in humility.

During their stop for lunch, Pod forgot to get himself anything to eat, always wanting to be ready to assist his lady. Brienne had to push him towards the campfire where the remains of a brace of pheasants were being packed away.

“Honestly, Pod. You’re my squire, not my slave. I can fetch my own waterskins long enough for you not to starve. You’re no good to me if you’re going to collapse from hunger.”

“Yes, m-my lady.”

“You’re doing a fine job, Pod,” Jaime said once he thought she was out of earshot. “Eat up and don’t worry. She’s just grouchy because she doesn’t fit into her armor anymore.”

“I heard that, and I do so,” Brienne said from the tree line where she’d gone to make water (again). Why her body wanted her to drink so much and then promptly pee it all out, she had no idea. “It’s a bit snug, that’s all,” she continued as she returned.

“Of course,” Jaime kissed her cheek.

“Just-agree-with-whatever-she-says,” Jaime muttered his best advice into Pod’s ear. Pod didn't really have anyone else to turn to about the special trials of serving a pregnant knight. As usual, Lady Brienne was forging her own path, and they'd have to figure it out as they went along.

The group rode on for about an hour after lunch when Brienne asked Jaime to wait with her while the others went on ahead.

“I need about one minute of your time,” she said.

“What’s the matter?” He thought perhaps her horse had thrown a shoe, but that would take longer than a minute to remedy.

“Look, it’s all the rocking, okay?”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“No. Look into my eyes.” He did, and saw her pupils were huge, blown with passion. “Seriously, this is not going to take long.”

So the initial part of the journey was fun. The mood seemed to strike each day around mid-day and again after dinner. Jaime started to felt like a lucky, if slightly exhausted man.

However, as they passed through the Kingswood and across the Wendwater, they entered the plains of the Stormlands proper. The region seemed determined to live up to its name. Steady, soaking rain and booming thunder had been the only hallmarks for the past three days. Everywhere they pitched their tents, the ground was muddy and sodden. The uncomfortable men soon gave up even gambling or tale-telling by the fire. Most everyone remained hunched sullenly on their horses during the day and in their tents at night, praying for it to be over.

For Jaime, even worse was that Brienne didn’t mind. Whenever he tried to complain, she’d look at him as if he were an idiot and say, “Yes, it’s a storm. Aren’t you used to it by now?” It was rather annoying that a pregnant woman was the most stalwart member of the party. Her riding ahead, watching out for treacherous spots in the road or deadfalls, left Jaime alone with his thoughts too much of the time.

Without exception, as far as he knew, the denizens of King’s Landing had rewarded Brienne with nothing but well wishes about the child. Not so, him. He’d heard plenty of muttering within the White Tower about other Kingsguard who wanted to marry and have families. What was so special about the Kingslayer, they asked, that he got to break every one of his sacred vows, including of course, the king slaying one? Hearing that talk again had sliced into his flesh. Rendering deeper wounds, some of the young squires asked if they misunderstood the vows. Jaime had to stumble out an explanation of the king’s writ, but even so, there was no good reason for his special treatment, and he was sure they could tell. Still, a child with Brienne – any vow that would forbid that was a vow he’d forsake a dozen times a day.

 

Storm’s End, very possibly the plainest major castle in the kingdoms, finally rose before them. Located on a cliff overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, it was squat and dark with only a single tower behind its massive curtain wall. Built to withstand the fiercest storms, its stones were so perfectly placed together that the winds could find no purchase. It seemed a grim and foreboding place, hardly a fitting seat for a great lord. Of course, Stannis being Stannis, he’d never gotten over Robert granting it to Renly instead of himself after he held it for nearly a year (against, ironically, its present castellan, Mace Tyrell) during Robert’s Rebellion. Stannis even left a garrison of his scarce soldiers to maintain the castle after he fled north. They hadn’t proven enough to hold off the might of Highgarden this time, giving Mace Tyrell, at last, a decisive victory at Storm’s End.

Before they rode through the gates, Jaime and Brienne paused to take a close look at the waters of Shipbreaker Bay. They could see over a dozen longships including, if Brienne was not mistaken, the _Black Wind_. The ships seemed ominously calm, anchored and waiting with uncharacteristic patience for Ironborn. Brienne and Jaime counted themselves fortunate to have arrived before the dromonds sailing from Dragonstone. If Lord Tyrell had those ships in his arsenal, he may have been less inclined to diplomacy.

Lord Tyrell met them in his audience chamber, and Jaime took back every uncharitable thought he’d ever had about the man. His clothes hung on his once stout frame, and his wavy brown hair showed a swift encroachment of white. The loss of Loras, his youngest and favored son, seemed to have permanently dispelled the jovial personality he adopted for court appearances. Jaime felt his stomach twist in sympathy. If anything happened to his child, he didn’t know how he’d carry on. (It took him longer than he was comfortable admitting to remember Joffrey. But he’d never been allowed to treat Joffrey as anything more than a nephew. That was one of the few resentments he harbored against his sister. One look at Tommen showed that Joffrey didn’t have to become a monster. Too much privilege and the influence of Robert had turned him into one).

“Lord Tyrell, thank you for receiving us,” Jaime bowed.

“Of course,” Lord Tyrell returned the gesture. Storm’s End was ugly, but rich. Its incomes from vassal farmlands, mills, and lumberyards rivaled those of the Highgarden, and it spent much less in maintaining appearances. Lord Tyrell set a generous welcoming feast before his guests, and everyone filed into the dining room to receive his hospitality. Brienne, as usual lately, was happy to allow Jaime to do most of the talking while she ate enough for two. Now, at least, she understood why.

“We are not long returned from Highgarden. Lady Olenna, Lord Willas, Ser Garlan, and Lady Leonette are well, as is Queen Margaery at King’s Landing, of course.”

“Mmm. You’re no closer to determining who killed my son?” Mace inquired, not caring to indulge in social niceties.

“The Gold Cloaks continue their inquires,” Jaime said. They had uncovered nothing but rumor, conjecture, and dead ends so far. The only person they could arrest and put to the question who might possibly yield some real answers was Oberyn Martell, and that would surely result in a war with Dorne.

Mace shook his head, unsatisfied. “Ironborn off both coasts. Kingsguard poisoned within the Red Keep itself. The North still in rebellion. The Queen and queen mother put on trial by the Faith. What is happening to our realm?” he lamented.

“It’s the winter,” Brienne said. “People can feel it coming on, and they get scared. There’s always chaos before winter and renewal afterward. It’s all of our duty to shepherd the kingdoms through this difficult time.”

“The Ironborn off your coast seem well under control,” Jaime said, trying to steer them toward the matter at hand.

“Yes, they were fairly easy to intimidate for Ironborn. I sailed the fleet out to meet them. They saw we had overwhelming numbers and called for parley.”

Brienne harbored some skepticism that the matter had been so simple. The only fleet Lord Tyrell could boast was a loosely organized collection of jumped up fishing boats. She had her doubts that such a force would have daunted the same Yara Greyjoy she met in Essos.

“Did you take Captain Greyjoy prisoner?” she asked.

“Not prisoner, no. Lady Greyjoy is a guest here. She’s free to leave any time she wishes, so long as she then sails back east. She elected to stay once I told her representatives from King’s Landing were on their way.”

“No time like the present to meet with her, then,” Brienne said, having finished her meal in record time. “Let’s see what brings Captain Greyjoy all the way from Essos.”

 

True to Lord Tyrell’s word, Yara Greyjoy was not being held prisoner. There were no guards on her door, and her suite was well appointed, if a bit dreary from being furnished in the dark woods and heavy draperies of the Stormlands. Stannis seemed to favor the Baratheon color of black and the Red God’s red, without the enlivening flashes of cloth of gold. Yara observed her fleet from the tower room’s window, probably wondering how long their patience would hold.

Brienne knocked on the doorframe to get her attention. “Captain Greyjoy? We’ve come from the capital to meet with you.”

“You two! I knew my star charts looked full of trouble lately. Shoulda known it couldn’t just be a wind storm; something like that I could handle,” Yara said. Harsh words or not, she gave them each a hug, and found herself pressing into Brienne’s belly. “Well, that was bound to happen, way you were carrying on. Was that why you left so sudden?”

“We wanted the child to be born in its homeland,” Jaime broke in, happy to allow Yara to mislead herself.

“Yeah, I can understand that. Daenerys was seriously horked off, though. Don’t expect her to spare you again, Ser, if you become reacquainted.” She poked Brienne in the belly. “You could get away with saying sorry and blaming everything on him.” She hooked a thumb at Jaime, then sighed. “Which you’re probably not smart enough to do.”

“It’s called loyalty,” Brienne muttered. Jaime spoke over her, “So are you here to negotiate for her royal scaliness?” he asked.

“Well… not as such. See, and you may not have known this,” Yara said, her voice dry as the Red Wastes, “but it turns out Volantis is a cesspit of competing alliances and noble families that hate each other. They’re not so much fighting in the streets like in Meereen, but it’s amazing how much they can slow down the most minor of reforms with political debate. Every once in a while Daenerys pitches a fit and threatens to burn something down. But no, that steady march north you promised is going to take a while.”

“Oh?” Jaime asked, all innocence.

“She says she’ll give it ten years and see how things stand.” Yara shook her head and pointed to her chest. “I don’t have ten years.” She pointed out the window. “My people don’t have ten years. ‘Slavery is worse than your uncle,’ Daenerys says. She doesn’t understand how fast circumstances can change over here.”

“You’re defecting as well, then?” Brienne asked.

“As far as she knows, I’m checking out the defenses of Dragonstone to see how easy it’d be to take her ancestral castle back. Let’s just say I’m open to the idea of new alliances, though. Perhaps your king is willing to make an offer worth hearing.”

“Your pact with Daenerys was independence for the Iron Islands and a non-aggression treaty?”

“Yeah, basically.”

Brienne and Jaime exchanged glances. Jaime was soundly familiar with the shifting nature of alliances with the Ironborn. Still, there was room for cooperation in that they all wanted to chase Euron Greyjoy away from his new holdings in the west. Once they’d pushed him back to the Iron Islands, perhaps it’d be the Crown’s turn to get wobbly in the terms of their allegiance.

“Would you ride back with us to King’s Landing to negotiate?” Jaime asked.

“Sure. We should sail, though. It’d be quicker.”

Jaime didn’t want to think about the chaos they’d cause by bringing a fleet of Ironborn longships off the shores of King’s Landing. “No, we’ll ride. We have too many men and horses with us. Plus you don’t want her making sick all over your ship.”

“I’ve never once!” Brienne protested.

“Suit yourselves. Theon’s in charge of the fleet now. I’ve been signaling him I’m okay. I can tell him to go north and wait off Dragonstone for when we’re done. If I let him know who it is, he’ll trust that you’ll provide me safe conduct.” That was about as close as Yara got to complimenting Lannisters.

“Tell him to go out to sea a bit and not hug the coastline or he’ll pass some very large ships sailing this way. I’d hate for there to be any misunderstandings,” Jaime said.

 

They had a respite in the weather for the morning of their departure to King’s Landing. The accompanying knights were in good spirits. Most had expected their commander’s predictions to be wrong and that they’d arrive at Storm’s End to find the castle under siege by vicious sea raiders. If they managed to fight their way past the invaders, they would face the specter of a long siege and eating rats to survive. To have been welcomed, fed some good meals, and send back on their way seemed too lucky by half.

The group pushed their mounts hard until lunchtime, trying to get as far from any new sea storms as possible. While Jaime ensured that Pod ate something this time, Brienne sat next to Yara in silence. “Thank you again,” Brienne said abruptly. They were both surprised to hear her voice choked with tears.

“You’re welcome. For what? Are you okay?” Yara’s mind frantically tried to figure out why the lady knight was so upset and if it was going to end up causing her problems.

“I’m fine. This hits me out of the blue sometimes. I was just thinking about how you kept me safe on your ship. I didn’t even understand for most of the time what would have happened if you hadn’t. I didn’t let myself imagine it. But you did, and you didn’t let anyone hurt me. You didn’t even know me.”

She smothered Yara in an embrace and started to blubber. For Yara, it was rather like dancing with a tamed bear, except that a bear’s harsh bellows didn’t leave tear stains.

“All right, all right, shove off. For God’s sake – I couldn’t get you to touch me on the ship, and now I can’t get you off of me.”

“You never asked,” Brienne sniffled, feeling the suddenly overwhelming emotions fading back to a manageable level. She sat back and rubbed her face dry. She was terribly unskilled at crying.

“I did so. I just never demanded,” Yara reminded her.

“Right. That’s right.” Brienne started to look misty again.

“Fuck’s sake, woman. I don’t deserve any thanks for not raping you. I am slightly offended that you weren’t even the tiniest bit interested, but I’ll get over it.”

“I- I was kind of focused on someone else. I wanted her to be my first woman.”

“Right. Well, how did that go, then?” Yara asked, happy for the change in subject and more than a little curious.

“Very well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. See? I’ll bet she had no idea it was your first time that way. I’ve always said greenlanders get so hung up about sex they barely even enjoy it.”

“I enjoyed it. With her, and with him, uh,” she bit off saying ‘and with both of them together,’ as not being any of Yara’s business, no matter how much helpful advice she’d provided.

“How does your girl feel about this?” Yara asked, indicating Brienne’s belly.

“She’s pretty excited about it actually. She’s embroidering me a baby blanket with our house designs all interposed.”

“Yours and hers?”

“Yeesss,” Brienne drawled. Well, it was true. A lion faced one way over a sunburst and the other over a crescent moon. Whether that represented one lion or two was open to interpretation.

“Huh. Must be one extremely understanding girl.”

Brienne’s face showed her confusion. “She knows I married.”

“I’m just saying, if my girl got knocked up, I’m like to be pissed.”

“You don’t have a girl,” Brienne teased. Certainly, the Ironborn had seemed averse to serious relationships in the past.

“I’ve got a few,” Yara grumbled.

Brienne threw her a bemused look.

“A couple boys too.” Yara grinned at Brienne’s shock. “What? I’m a very loving person.”

Brienne laughed. “My father warned me about sailors.”

“Yeah, he ought to know. He was one. You’ve got a bit of his blood, I can tell. Or maybe it’s the baby in you. I’ve heard that can get a girl’s juices flowing.”

“Shut up,” Brienne said, embarrassed and now wondering how she’d make it home with the shameless Ironborn watching her and Jaime’s every move.

“If you need any attention, just let me know,” Yara persisted. “Since you’ve already got yourself deflowered both ways, what the harm? I could still show you a few things.”

Brienne organized her reply carefully. “I can only see that making matters more complicated once we get to the capital.”

“Suit yourself,” Yara shrugged. There was always plenty of fun to be found in King’s Landing.

 


	45. King's Landing XIX - Alliances

Brienne felt her customary scowl relax as her traveling party passed through the gates of King’s Landing. She could admit now that she considered this once strange place home and that she was relieved to be back. The return from Storm’s End had been uneventful and yet, with Yara Greyjoy along, still lively. She looked forward to her life returning to its usual courses.

It only took dismounting from her palfrey in Fishmonger’s Square to learn that was never really going to happen.

“M’lady, fresh caught salmon? Healthful for growing babies, salmon.”

“Sole, m’lady? Very easy on a tender stomach is sole.”

“Eating lots of eel makes it more likely to be a boy, everyone knows.”

They’d only been on the road three weeks there and back, but something had happened during that time, and suddenly everyone could tell. A plain bump showed even through Brienne’s clothing. Random townsfolk had started to congratulate her and, much to her dismay, put their hands on her belly.

“Pod? You’re going to have to take her armor down to the Street of Steel and have it adjusted,” Jaime said. Brienne’s discomfort was palpable. She was more apprehensive and out of sorts than Cersei had been during this time, much more so. Jaime would give anything to ease her worries. He hoped being able to strap on her armor might make her feel like herself again.

“There’s no amount of adjustment that will accommodate this for long,” Brienne said.

“If they can fit Boros Blount, they can fit you,” he replied, not incorrectly. With Kingsguard being a lifetime appointment, some of the older members of the brotherhood allowed themselves to expand. Ser Boros had already earned the nickname Boros the Belly even before he became Tommen’s official food taster.

When the Red Keep loomed before them, Brienne tried once again to talk with Yara. The Ironborn had proven remarkably unconcerned about presenting herself well at court. Her opinion seemed to be that they could accept her or not, but she was unwilling to change herself to suit their standards. The war was more important than what she wore to meetings, surely.

Brienne obviously understood that point of view, and she harbored some faith that Cersei and the small council would be open-minded. Yara’s attitude concerned her more. “You know that the objective of this meeting is for you to work out an alliance against your uncle who has been attacking the Kingdoms’ western coast.”

“A’course.”

“So you’re going to need to keep a guard on your tongue. Make a good impression. In short, be nice.”

“Nice. Right. To a bunch of Lannisters.”

“You are capable of doing it. You’re nice to Jaime and me.”

“You are so not a Lannister. In fact, you're turning him into whatever you are,” Yara scoffed. Still, she resolved to try her best. These were not the Lannisters who put down the Greyjoy Rebellion. Those were dead and gone, just like her father and older brothers. The half-Lannister king was a mere child, and the queen regent had no reason to mistrust her. This could work.

 

Yara thought she would never get used to the pace of King’s Landing. Everything was hurry up and wait. They’d arrived to a pompous welcoming meal. The king and his queen greeted her, as did the queen regent and much of the small council. They all seemed very impressed about her tales of the Essen campaign, though naturally she made sure to tell them nothing that their spies shouldn’t have already sorted out. Then, they’d kept her treading water in the Red Keep for the next three days. Honestly, if ruling the Iron Islands would be this tedious, she’d just as soon stick to raiding.

Finally, Yara was summoned to a private meeting to discuss the alliance. She was not surprised to find Cersei Lannister in charge of the negotiation. (Disappointed, yes, but not surprised). The king was far too young and the small council too diverse of opinion. Better to present them with a treaty ready for approval than to become lost for days in the minutiae of each councilor’s pet issue.

Queen Cersei received her in the throne room making the point – in a rather petty way, Yara thought – that she was in charge. She sat the Iron Throne as if she considered it her own. Yara could see the white armor of two Kingsguard knights standing close behind that ugly heap of slagged swords. They were taking no chances that she had been sent by Daenerys as an assassin, she supposed. Cersei swept her gaze down Yara’s body perhaps wondering if she was worth her time. Yara wished that she’d paid a little more attention to her escorts when they’d talked about making an impression. Daenerys had never minded what she wore or looked like, but then again, Daenerys tended to make her own rules as she went along.

“You are calling yourself the queen of the Iron Islands. You are attempting to usurp your uncle, who was elected king under your own peculiar customs. Holding the election itself was a treasonous act in the view of the Crown, by the way. After losing the election, you fled to join with Daenerys Targaryen in fomenting rebellion, thus committing further treason. Now you’ve betrayed her and returned to Westeros. Loyalty does not seem to be your strong suit. Why should I possibly consider an alliance with you?”

Cersei's adversarial opening put wind in Yara's sails as it let her skip the formalities. Loyalty might not be her strong suit, but fighting was. “Because Euron is raiding and raping you blind. Me and my men won’t do that. If we band our forces together to defeat Euron and put the Iron Islands in my hands, I swear to you that the Ironborn can find a new way of life. Having our independence will be all the push we need. I’ll be Queen Yara, the first ever queen of the Ironborn. My brother Theon will by my Hand. Together we’ll start a new era. Theon was fostered by the Starks, so he knows all about how the noble lords keep their vassals in line. It can be different between our queendoms. You and I just have to trust each other this much.” She held her thumb and forefinger barely apart.

The queen regent didn't seem to be listening any longer. “What is your name again?”

“Yara Greyjoy, true born daughter of Balon Greyjoy.”

“Right.” Cersei cast a long stare at one of her guards. The guard absorbed her look, and … blushed? The more the queen stared, the redder the guard turned until he was the color of a steamed lobster, and Yara finally got a good enough look at ‘him’ to realize that the big girl had gotten herself a promotion.

 _Well… she sure as fuck does have a woman in King's Landing, doesn't she? Oh, this might end up being a problem._ Queen Cersei seemed uncertain how to proceed. Clearly, Yara’s name had at least come up.

“I believe we have some matters to discuss in private. Show Lady Greyjoy promptly to my solar. Tell the steward to bring maps of the west and wine,” she said.

The Kingsguard who Yara didn’t know, a tall man with a sandy beard, followed swiftly at Cersei’s heels. Yara managed to grab onto Brienne’s arm as she walked past.

“I saw that, you fucker. Seamstress my ass,” Yara hissed.

“I didn't say she was a seamstress. I said she likes to sew,” Brienne whispered back, pulling away to catch up to her queen.

 _Well, shit, she has me there,_ Yara thought. She’d rushed in and made too many assumptions, as usual. Any considerations that this was going to wrap up quickly and easily went sailing off over the horizon.

 

“Ser Jaime, could I have a private word?” Lord Tarth asked.

“Of course, my lord,” Jaime replied. He prepared himself for a scolding about Brienne. Her armor was too heavy or duties too burdensome. She shouldn’t be standing so much or sparring in the training yard. Jaime understood that she needed to be protected for the baby’s sake, but gods, her happiness was important, too. She would be miserable with nothing to do.

“The flagship of the fleet is due to be launched in two weeks time from King’s Landing. I plan to sail it to Oldtown to meet with the lords of the Reach regarding the Ironborn. I ask that you have a word with Queen Cersei so that Brienne is assigned to this mission, along with yourself. We should be away no longer than a month. She will certainly be back to King’s Landing before the child comes.”

“I can ask her. I don’t see any reason she’d refuse. But, why? Brienne is… not a negotiator.”

Lord Tarth smiled sadly. “She’s struggling with her role now. Though it’s no fault of her own! She can’t help it if even her own squire won’t spar with her anymore.”

“She’s still training him.”

“The boy is a lackluster swordsman, it’s true, but he used to at least attempt to hit her. She can tell he’s not trying. She can tell that no one is expecting anything of her. Trust me, Ser, she does not like to be handled like a porcelain doll. She grows more frustrated every day. Diplomatic missions are part of the duties of a Kingsguard. She can do something meaningful here. There will be no danger, but it will show her that she can still be of service.”

Jaime agreed so completely that he almost overcame his Tywin-instilled training and embraced his goodfather. Finally, an ally who understood Brienne’s proud, pricklish nature. “Why do you want me along, my lord?”

“Well, since I’ll be leading the meeting, you’ll need to stay between her and Lord Tarly.”

“You fear Lord Tarly means her harm?” Jaime knew they’d served together under Renly Baratheon, before she was appointed to Renly's Rainbow Guard, but he hadn’t heard of any threats.

“The other way around, my lad. Not that she would disgrace herself by assaulting an ally, but… better safe than sorry.”

 

Two stewards were needed to escort Yara to Cersei’s solar. One carried the bulky maps of the western coastline and the other carefully cradled what even Yara considered too many flasks of wine for two people.

“Have a seat. Have some wine. I’ve already gotten started,” Cersei said. She didn’t appear to be lying as there was a half-full carafe of Dornish red on the table. Yara helped herself while Cersei and the stewards smoothed out the maps and weighed down their edges.

The maps were marked with the latest intelligence of Euron’s attacks on the west coast and Shield Islands. The situation looked more dire than Yara expected. Of course, Euron could be expected to overextend himself, take as much plunder as he could, and then retreat back to sea as defenders approached. His key advantage was his scores of fast-moving ships. He could strike with overwhelming force nearly anywhere, take what he wanted, destroy the rest, and be back out to sea before anyone could respond. Right now, he was running absolutely roughshod over the coast, even raiding into the Mander itself.

 _So no matter what she says, they need help_ , Yara could see. The Crown ships are too slow to chase Euron’s and they don’t have enough manpower to garrison all the coast. _A couple dozen longships and my men could make all the difference, and she knows it._

“Your Grace, I think my terms are as clear as they are humble,” Yara began as politely as she could. “My men, my ships lead the fight against Uncle Euron. In return, the Iron Islands gains independence once we win.”

“I’m expected to overlook the rebellion and treason? Allow another fragment of my realm to splinter off with no consequences?”

‘ _My realm’ – I knew she considered herself the real ruler._ “You said it yourself, Your Majesty. Euron is the leader of the Iron Islands. He’s the traitor to the Crown, not me. I just went off to find some other allies to fight against him, is all. And I think your people want peace more than they give a shit about who technically rules the Iron Islands.”

“Why should your people care so much about whether they’re ruled by a Greyjoy or a proper king? Accept being a high noble house. I assure you, if it’s good enough for the Lannisters it’s good enough for the Greyjoys.”

“It’s a different way of life. We don’t care about titles or land holdings or pretty baubles. We just want our freedom. That’s all. It’s not much to ask for getting you back your most useful tradeways.” _That first flask of wine sure went quickly_ , Yara noticed.

***

“I’m far more beautiful than you,” Cersei said. They were on the final flask of wine. It was about time to discuss their real differences.

“Well, I could kick your ass, not that I’d bother,” Yara snapped back. She didn’t know what they were fighting about, but that never stopped her before.

“She chose me,” Cersei replied firmly.

 _Oh, that’s what we’re fighting about. Right._ “You’re welcome to her. She’s mule-headed and more trouble than she’s worth.”

“I don’t need your largess. She chose me.”

“Good. She can be a pain in _your_ ass. Congratulations.” Yara decided to change tacks, as sometimes flattery goes a long way. “But she did, yeah, I admit it. You're the only girl she wants up in her ladybits. A word of thanks wouldn’t go amiss, though.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She didn't know nothing before me. I don't think she could have found the lips on your mouth, much less the ones between your legs.” Yara had never been gifted with self control. The relief that she and Cersei were contending over dalliances now, not treason, turned her even more incautious.

“I’ll send for more wine,” Cersei said, standing abruptly.

 _We need more wine?_ Yara observed all the empty flasks. _That can’t possibly be right._

***

“Here’s my offer: The Iron Islands are a fairly worthless set of rocks. You provide almost no tax revenue anyway. You can have your independence so long as there’s absolute non-aggression with the realm. Any breach of that trust will be met with an overwhelming response. Naturally, there will be some occasional exchanges of gifts; respectfully sharing all waterways for trade, that sort of thing.”

“Uh huh. This is because I taught your girlfriend to go down on you?”

“No, of course not. We’ll exchange fosterlings as proper incentive for good behavior. I can draw up a list of families from the Islands that the Crown will need to see represented.”

“It feels good, no question, but I can teach her a lot more.”

“You keep your hands off of her!” Cersei said, her temper breaking. “Now as to tariffs,” she changed the subject.

***

“Eh, she’s a sweet thing, really,” Yara said rather out of nowhere. They’d been talking about fishing rights or something boring and her mind had begun to wander. She was starting to suspect that Cersei might be able to out drink her. That would be unfortunate; axe and alcohol were her main negotiating techniques. If she couldn’t win at either here, she could be in trouble especially since number three, sex, seemed off the table.

“I’m glad you treated her well,” Cersei replied primly. She still felt a little jealous, but meeting Yara had helped immensely. She hadn't turned out to be some mythological being of the waterways or a highly trained prostitute who could never be equaled in bed. Just a very average-looking woman who had once done her lover a kindness.

“Did you know she never even let me touch her? She was totally hung up on you.” Yara stretched, realizing that she was in some danger of dozing off at the table. “Guess that's just as well; you’ve got her all knocked up now.”

Cersei laughed, her joy at the unexpected news taking the reins off her tongue. “Well, I mistook you for a Summer Isles whore.”

“Huh.” Yara didn’t know what to do with that. “Do tell.”

“I had her favorite whore, whose name is ‘Yaya, not Yara, as it turns out, brought to her chambers once to cheer her up. Brienne took one look, slammed the door, and said I’d got it wrong. That mix-up was a bit embarrassing to us all, I have to say.” The whore especially; Brienne must have spent ten minutes apologizing to her.

***

Finally, after a long night of negotiation and far too much wine, Yara admitted defeat. Much to her chagrin, the queen regent had remained coherent longer than herself. Yara was pretty sure she’d been winkled out of some important concessions towards the end. “I think I’m talked out, Your Grash,” she slurred. “I’m off to find a bed, preferably one with a whore in it.”

“You should try Chataya’s,” Cersei said. “They have a girl – Yara – she’s very good.”

“I’ll do that,” Yara grinned, glad to hear Cersei was at least somewhat impaired herself.

“I’m off to be with my wife,” Cersei said, gaining her feet and clearly needing to wait for her balance to catch up.

“What was that now?” Yara asked.

Cersei giggled at her mistake. “I mean, my husband’s wife.”

Yara’s eyebrows shot up. She had actually thought that rumor too scandalous to be true. “You want to try that a third time, Your Majeshty?”

“My… brother’s… wife,” Cersei said with immense care.

“Go fuck your brother’s wife, then,” Yara laughed. “I’m going to go buy myself something a bit less complicated.”

 

“Are you well?” Brienne asked. Cersei actually looked drunk. Brienne didn’t think she’d ever been able to say that before.

“We sorted out the framework of an alliance over many, many flasks of wine. I did well for the Crown, but I can’t move now. I think my bones may have dissolved.” Cersei lowered herself gently onto the bed. She didn’t want to think about the mechanics of getting undressed.

“You should rest. Let’s roll you over onto your side,” Brienne said.

“Mmm, whatever you think,” Cersei allowed herself to be positioned on her side at the edge of her bed. Brienne loosened her laces and put a basin underneath just in case. “But,” Cersei said, grabbing her arm, “if she asks, I plowed you all night long.”

“Yes, my queen,” Brienne whispered into her neck. A smile curled on Cersei’s lips before consciousness deserted her.

 


	46. Oldtown

The _Sweet Cersei_ docked at the Oldtown harbor to discharge its passengers. The Crown’s new flagship was the largest ship in the port without question. That it even dwarfed some of the buildings nearby took Brienne aback. It was an intimidating war craft to be sure, but even the massive elephants of Volantis could be picked apart by smaller, quicker predators.

As if reading her mind, Yara Greyjoy sauntered up beside her and Jaime and gave a nod to the huge vessel. “She’ll be a grand support ship, aye. Once me and my men find my thrice-damned uncle and chase him toward the coast, she’ll blast him to pieces.”

That was certainly an optimistic outlook on the matter, but Brienne understood. Thinking about everything that could go wrong during a fight was a sure way to paralyze yourself before ever engaging. (Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if this was why she’d been so romantically unsuccessful, at least before Jaime who had irritated her until she lost all sense of self control or preservation).

“Good to have you back in Westeros, Captain Greyjoy. I hope we can make reclaiming your throne as easy as the taking of Volantis,” Jaime said.

“Thank you. And likewise; may Daenerys stay in her nest not to bother you until your grandchildren have grandchildren. Hope to see you at my coronation, gorgeous. You too, Ser Jaime.”

Brienne looked down, always confounded when anyone implied she might be physically attractive. “Shut up,” she muttered.

“Hey, just because greenlanders are too stupid to see what’s in front of them don’t mean I am. If I’d known so many of them were blind, I’d have told Daenerys how easy it’d be to invade.”

“I”ll miss you,” Brienne said, genuinely. She was more talking about Yara’s good humor and salt of the earth personality, but the compliments didn’t hurt. She leaned over to hug Yara goodbye and was met with a firm wrist shake instead. “What, no hug?” she asked surprised.

“Let's just say there are certain territorial invasions that are considered acts of war in terms of our treaty. Your goodsister was pretty damn clear about one of them.”

“She did not put that in the document.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to take it up with her. I got myself out-drunk.”

“I’d better not be mentioned by name. My father will read it!”

“I’m not actually sure. I’z still seeing double when I marked the paper. Not gonna push my luck though.”

 

_Oldtown is old_ , Brienne couldn’t stop realizing. It sounded far too simple-minded to say out loud, but the mere fact of it kept hitting her upside the head. She’d seen structures as ancient in Essos, especially in Volantis and Meereen, but there they had been safely foreign. Here, she saw buildings that would not be out of place in King’s Landing constructed over foundations that might have been laid when the First Men held sway. The cobbled streets were narrow and crooked, more resembling animal trails than the proper straight avenues featured in planned cities. Almost everything was built of stone and had endured millennia of looting, burnings, and rebuilding.

Currently, King’s Landing eclipsed Oldtown as the most populous city in Westeros, but Oldtown was still the richest, grandest, and most beautiful. Perhaps due to its location in the fertile grounds of the Reach or its relatively sparse population, Oldtown did not have the oppressive odor and griminess of King’s Landing. In fact, it smelled almost distractingly perfumed. Brienne supposed one got used to it, as she not longer noticed the more… animal odors of King’s Landing.

The Lords of the Reach and representatives from the Crown were welcomed with hospitality by House Hightower, the acknowledged governors of the city. Lord Hightower had become reclusive in his old age, but his son and heir Baelor proved a gracious host. The liege lord of the region, Mace Tyrell, remained at Storm’s End, but his heir Willas was present to officially represent Highgarden. In truth, he was more a mouthpiece for his grandmother and adviser Olenna. Lord Tarly from Horn Hill, both branches of the Fossoway tree, the Beesburys, the Cuys and the Mullendores were also present, among others.

The meeting itself, though expected to take all week, would arrive at a forgone conclusion. The Lords of the Reach would receive aid and defense from the Crown and the loyalist Greyjoys. In return, they would quarter and provision the soldiers, including the Ironborn. They had basically no choice in the matter, but memories were long here and for some it would be a bitter draught indeed. Most of the houses had first remained loyal to the Targaryens; later supported Renly; and about half had then gone over to Stannis. There was little love for the Lannister family and absolutely none for the Greyjoys, who had often ravaged the region in the past.

The bad blood between Brienne and Lord Tarly became equally obvious as they sized one another up at the opening day’s meeting. Lord Tarly had been the one to put an end to the cruel wager among Renly’s knights concerning Brienne’s maidenhood. However, he’d humiliated her in the process and said that if she didn’t go back to her father, she deserved anything that happened to her later. Jaime doubted that she’d gotten a night of peaceful sleep afterward, knowing that one of the high battle commanders considered her fair game.

Jaime did all he could to keep Brienne and Lord Tarly out of one another’s way. Olenna Tyrell also threw in her assistance. Jaime hadn’t considered how much of a stir the eye-catchingly tall, heavily pregnant, female knight in Kingsguard armor would cause, but soon found that almost everyone wanted to inspect her for themselves. Lady Olenna used her cane to mercilessly cut a path through the crowd. She loudly quarreled with anyone, including Brienne, that countered her demand that she sit and rest.

The only incident Jaime would later grumble about was Lord Tarly’s overly effusive congratulations to Selwyn about his upcoming heir. There seemed to be a faint odor of insult mixed in; an understanding that vows had to be broken and marriage a bit rushed. On the other hand, Tarly’s unpleasant nature may in fact have made perfectly innocent social manners sound rude. He had brought along his younger son, Dickon, now a squire. Jaime remembered the lad was his heir, thanks to many older sisters. He’d had a elder brother, Samwell, but the young man had… died in the war? That seemed most likely; so many had.

 

The formal sessions of the meeting concluded in the first two days. Afterwards, there were many private gatherings as the lords scrambled to secure the best positions for their houses, and brief daily updates concerning intelligence freshly arrived from the watchtowers along the coast. Jaime and Brienne found themselves superfluous to the events with free time to explore the city.

Everywhere Jaime went, he found something new he wanted to purchase for the baby. If he couldn’t swaddle it in luxury, how would they know it was a Lannister? However, Brienne’s family had a superstition, forged from its sad history, against buying too much for a baby until it is born. 'Lannister babies arrived hale and healthy,' Jaime argued. 'Even Tyrion,' though Jaime tried not to dwell too much on his birth. They soon agreed that shopping together caused too much discord and tried to take in Oldtown’s other attractions.

Jaime and Brienne paid their respects at the Starry Sept, the largest sept in honor of the Seven in the world. They viewed the Hightower lighthouse that has led ships to the Oldtown port since ancient times. They were thwarted, however, at the Citadel, where the men guarding the entrance refused to admit Brienne even to the ground floor. No women, ever, no exceptions.

Jaime prepared to leave with Brienne, but she stopped him with a kiss to the cheek. “It’s alright. You take a tour and tell me about it. I need to have a rest and a snack more than I need to see the Citadel, honestly. I’ll be waiting at our inn when you’re done.”

She did look tired, with purple blotches blooming under her eyes. It was easy to forget with her stoic, uncomplaining nature that she carried the equivalent of an extra suit of armor around at all times.

“I won’t be too long,” he said.

“Don’t buy anything,” she teased.

Jaime swiftly regretted his decision once his tour of the Citadel began. Most visitors came hoping to gain access to a rare book or search for information in the libraries open to traveling scholars. There was not much to interest a knight for whom reading had always been a chore.

An unusual-looking acolyte caught Jaime’s eye. He had the dark skin of a Summer Islander and seemed barely old enough to shave. Young or not, his chain already featured three links, so he was obviously a quick learner. Jaime nodded to the young man as he passed by. There was something familiar in his appearance, but Jaime couldn’t place it yet.

“Is any young man who shows aptitude welcomed here no matter where he’s from?” Jaime asked.

“Oh yes indeed,” Jaime’s guide responded, happy to have found something that impressed him. “That was Alleras, from the Summer Isles. We have students here from Braavos, Volantis, even a resident visitor from Leng. The knowledge they bring with them supplements our own records in a very harmonious fashion.”

When Jaime said that he would like to wrap up his visit, his guide insisted on showing him one more site, the Ravenry. “You’ve come at a special time, Ser. Not many would chance upon such a sight in his lifetime.” The white ravens hopped around their enclosure, seeming to talk to one another in harsh caws. Clearly they were pampered birds; the remnants of their seeds and fruit littered the floor. Acolytes wearing chainmail gloves drifted from bird to bird, tying messages to their legs. “They will be flying tomorrow to all the grand castles of the realms. Autumn has officially concluded. Winter is here.”

 

Brienne gratefully put up her feet near the fireplace and sipped her cider. She and Pod shared a plate of crisped boar skin and steamed tubers and rested in companionable silence. For once lately, her belly felt full, and the stresses of King’s Landing seemed far away.

“Is it true that D-Dickon Tarly was with you when you s-served Lord Renly?” Pod asked.

The cider here was perhaps a little stronger than most; Brienne didn’t feel the reflexive shudder she usually did when thinking about those days and the wager for her virtue. Dickon had been the one who informed Lord Tarly about the bet, which in the end had been a good deed, but at the time she thought she would die of the humiliation. “It is. He was only a page for his father then, but he was there.”

“He must be very b-brave.”

Brienne blinked and considered her words carefully; usually she was terrible at this. “He is certainly handsome, and I believe quite kind-hearted as well,” she said.

“M-my lady?” Pod responded.

“Oh, not for me, Pod,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “But I couldn’t help noticing how you were indifferent about Lady Sansa when she was hanging all over you at Casterly Rock. Whereas now, you’re blushing so much you look like me.”

“M-my lady, I don’t th-think-”

“We’ll be here for the rest of the week, and I don’t expect any hostilities. Feel free to consider yourself at leisure. Get to know the other squires. You never know; lifelong friendships can be made this way.”

“Yes, my lady.” After a few quiet minutes, he slowly, casually left the inn for a walk. A nice, peaceful walk, mayhap taking him past the stables and the training grounds and wherever else squires might congregate.

Once Podrick left, Brienne took a look around the common room to see who was there. She waved away the barmaid who’d come to refresh her cider. It really was much too strong. Given the inn’s clientele she should have expected that; chiefly the patrons appeared to be young men looking to relax after a hard day’s study at the Citadel.

Her attention was drawn to a novice eating nearby whose voice sounded familiar. She cast about her memory trying to place him until he said 'Maester Aemon' and it clicked for her. This was the black brother she’d met in Braavos. He was certainly a long way from there now, never mind also being far from the Wall. She gestured for the barmaid to bring him a second helping of stew since she recalled him having a hearty appetite.

She walked over to speak with him. “Young man, do you perchance recall meeting at an inn in Pentos? I mentioned that my husband and I have family serving the Night’s Watch? If you could spare a moment, I would love to hear how the Watch is faring.”

Sam thanked her for the stew with a pleasant smile and left his companions to sit with Brienne. He recalled the incident vividly; she was difficult to forget, and had given Maester Aemon some comfort in his final days. “I’m Samwell, my lady. Brother in the Night’s Watch and novice at the Citadel. Soon to be an acolyte, I hope, if I can pass my exam. The Watch needs a new maester as soon as possible, and we don’t get many qualified volunteers.”

“It’s a hard life to be sure. And a very unusual combination.”

“As is Kingsguard and mother, I dare say,” Sam replied. “My congratulations.”

“Oh, thank you.” Brienne appreciated Sam’s sincere demeanor. He was one of the few outside of the family who’d offered congratulations with no backhanded comments attached.

They traded anecdotes about the state of the realm and the Wall for a while, then Brienne chanced to ask, “Do you think there is any truth to the idea that a non-human force lurks beyond the Wall?” She was thinking of the warnings the red witch, Melisandre, had given before she escaped King’s Landing. In the witch’s opinion, peace throughout Westeros would mean nothing unless and until they defeated the threat beyond the Wall.

“There is, my lady. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Slain one with these two hands. Gods’ truth.” He was flushed from the cider, but Brienne didn’t think he was inventing a tale. “We’ve had to let the wildlings through to the Gift to keep the women and children safe. Barely any ranging parties dare to go out anymore for fear of those things.” He shook his head. “They stay hidden, but they’re out there, in huge numbers. They don’t die unless you kill them with fire or Valyrian steel. I’m hoping… I’m hoping to find more information here but nobody much believes me.”

“What of your Lord Commander? He has a fearsome reputation; surely he can light a fire under the heads of the Citadel.”

“There’s only so much he can do from up there. If only we had one captive that we could transport all the way down here.” Sam sat back, the image of a wight snarling at the Archmaesters and causing them to brown their smallclothes, threatening to make him break out in a grin. “As it is, they treat me like an excitable lad who has heard too many faerie stories. Once I’ve earned my first link, though, I’ll have access to better libraries, and I can research more about the last Long Night.”

“The Crown does not take _any_ threat to the realm lightly. If you would be so good as to start from the beginning and tell me all you know of these creatures, you will find a receptive audience.” Her impending motherhood left Brienne desperate to prepare as much as possible against any and all foes. She’d disregarded these ones from beyond the Wall so far, but they were starting to sound formidable indeed.

 

Jaime returned to the inn early that evening, but Brienne had already gone up to bed. Even Pod was nowhere to be found. He decided to have a few tankards of ale by the fire and ruminate on the day. Winter was officially here. The Starks, pricks that they were, always turned out to be right about that eventually. Soon, the leaner days would arrive; he should enjoy the sensations of a fire warming his skin and a full belly while they lasted.

Jaime finished his drink and went up to their room. Brienne snored softly in the bed; she slept like a stone these days. He nestled in beside her, feeling the lump that was their child between them. Sometimes he could see it moving underneath her skin. Bizarre but, according to Brienne, not unpleasant. It moved frequently and was a goodly size; encouraging signs according to the maesters.

His mind drifted as he approached sleep. There had been something about his eyes. That acolyte, he looked a little like… Oberyn Martell in the eyes. Not the color or even the shape exactly, just an overall impression…. was that it? Something more seemed to be nagging at Jaime’s mind. Why wouldn’t he acknowledge a bastard son as he had all the daughters? What were the names of his older daughters? Obara, Sarella, Tyene, and Nymeria.

Jaime had never been good with his letters. His mind tended to scramble them on the page or even in his imagination. He saw it then, in one crystal moment of clarity. Oberyn Martell’s bastard daughter Sarella. Alleras. And another of his bastards, Nymeria. Remyn, the new Kingsguard, who also had his eyes.

 


	47. King's Landing XX - The Dorne Plot

Jaime sprinted to the gates of the Citadel in the middle of the night and pounded on them for admittance. He bullied the tired and confused novice who answered into bringing him to the Ravernry. Once there, he blustered his way past the acolytes until he found a maester who would authorize sending a bird to King’s Landing. Only then did he pause to sort out his message. “For Queen Cersei’s eyes ONLY. Ser Remyn is Nymeria Sand, daughter of Oberyn Martell. Detain and interrogate. Dornish plot to take the throne.” His speculations were unproven but their likelihood made his stomach twist with terror for his sister and her children.

Jaime did not sleep at all that night, and he had his and Brienne’s belongings packed long before sunrise. He felt as if he was being pulled in twain. A journey to King's Landing by ship would take two weeks even with fair winds. Riding straight up the Roseroad would be half that, if they rode hard and switched mounts at every stables along the way. However, in Brienne’s condition, such a physically challenging trip could be dangerous both for her and the child.

_I’ve sent the warning, and what’s done is done_ , Jaime told himself. Arriving in one week instead of two was unlikely to make any difference in the outcome. Gods he hated feeling helpless, though. He supposed this was why sailors seemed so odd to him. They had to accept that no matter their skill with a weapon, if the ship sank by storm or misadventure, the opportunity to fight may never arrive. Their entire culture had to bend to accommodate this notion. Jaime would much rather be in control of his own destiny. He could make peace with the wrongs he’d chosen because he found the act of choosing meaningful. Here, the choice was between alleviating his dread sooner versus the probability of causing harm to his wife and child. Thinking about it that way, the proper path was clear. Now, he just had to get Brienne to agree.

Predictably, upon hearing what Jaime had realized, Brienne wanted to return to King’s Landing with all due haste.

“Any ship will take us past Dorne,” Jaime reminded her. “We’ll sail along the entire southern coast and right past Sunspear. If there are any armies on the move or ships massing in the Sea of Dorne, we’ll spy them out. It’s the most useful action we can take right now. My raven will get there well ahead of us no matter what, and we can trust that Cersei will have already taken the necessary steps by the time we arrive.”

“We could buy Myrish lenses to help us see the shore,” Brienne suggested. Aside from Myr, Oldtown had the finest assortment of advanced technology in the known world.

Indeed they could; Jaime clapped her on the back for the excellent idea. He was relieved he didn’t have to argue with her about the arrangements. There was a non-zero chance she could have convinced him to ride. “You find what we need and book our cabins; I’ll inform the lords of our early return.”

 

They set sail on the out-going tide. Pod came very close to being left behind. Brienne had almost given up the search and was preparing to leave money for him at the inn when he sheepishly walked through the door. She upbraided him for being difficult to locate, but her heart wasn’t in it. In fact, Jaime noticed that Pod and Brienne seemed to be keeping a secret. Brienne ruffled Pod’s hair more like he was a son than a squire. She would be feeling motherly, Jaime supposed; it would scarcely be another moon before she held their own babe in her arms. Gods willing.

As they sailed past the Stepstones, Jaime and Brienne noticed a few more ships than usual in the Sea of Dorne. The excess seemed to be mainly trading vessels from Essos, but it was worth remembering. They saw no groups of soldiers in the south or any unexpected gatherings around Sunspear. The only habitable region they couldn’t catch sight of were the mountain passes in central Dorne.

“We should inform our good friends the Tarlys about the potential risk there. Horn Hill will be among the first to bear witness should the Dornish come boiling through the Prince’s Pass,” Jaime said. The armies of the Reach were needed to defend against the Ironborn, but surely a scouting party or two could be spared. If Dorne attacked the Reach, the Crown risked losing access to its food stores right as winter began.

“The Dornish would come for King’s Landing rather than Highgarden though?” Brienne asked.

“Assuredly. Their real targets are all in the capital.”

“Does this still all come back to Elia and the fall of King’s Landing under Robert? Everyone involved is dead. Oberyn executed Gregor Clegane; Robert is dead; Aerys is dead; even Rhaegar is dead if they blamed him.”

“My father lives. Doran always considered him the architect of the fall, which is true enough, and so holds him responsible for Elia and the childrens’ deaths.”

“He’s exiled. The affairs of the realm barely affect him up at the Wall.”

“Yes, but he will always be known as a loyal family man. I don’t believe Doran will be satisfied until Tywin’s entire line is dead.”

“You mean – you, Cersei, and Tyrion?” Brienne asked, alarmed.

“And Tommen, Myrcella, and this one,” Jaime touched her belly tenderly. Brienne’s eyes blazed, and she looked like she wanted to swim over to Dorne and settle this personally. “I can’t be sure,” he said to calm her, “but perhaps we will have the opportunity to ask a series of sharp questions once we return to King’s Landing.”

 

The night Jaime’s raven from the Citadel arrived in King’s Landing, a series of events occurred in rapid succession. Upon receiving the message, Cersei first sent one of the guards on her door to rouse the other Kingsguards in the White Tower and find Ser Remyn. Unfortunately, Ser Remyn turned out to be stationed outside the royal bedchamber. Astutely realizing that a pack of Kingsguard advancing on her in the middle of the night meant that the ruse was exposed, Nymeria dove into the royal chamber and blocked the door behind her. By the time the guards burst through, she had a knife to Queen Margaery’s throat. Using the young queen as a shield, she backed them down the stairs and disappeared into the warren of passages underneath the Keep.

Two Kingsguard stayed behind to secure King Tommen, who was soon joined by Queen Cersei. The rest, including Sers Arryk, Erryk, and as many gold cloaks as they could collect along the way, ran to reinforce Princess Myrcella’s guard. To their great surprise, they encountered the Princess and her fiancé Trystane Martell being led down a little used hallway by a blonde chambermaid no one could name.

“It’s that blonde girl that killed Loras!” Ser Erryk yelled. Unfortunately for him, he was correct. He drew his blade and charged, thinking to avenge the family he loved. This startled Tyene Sand into striking out with the poisoned dagger she kept concealed in her sleeves instead of trying to talk her way out of the situation. She soon lay dead, pierced by dozens of sword slashes, and Ser Erryk followed swiftly behind, choking on his own tongue as it swelled and blackened in his throat.

Princess Myrcella was bustled back to her rooms under heavy guard. Trystane and the rest of the Dornish noble contingent founded themselves gathered up and taken in for questioning. Of them, only Oberyn Martell put up a fight. The Kingsguard were almost grateful for the chance to expend some of their anxious energy, and subdued Prince Oberyn until he lost consciousness.

 

The palm of Cersei’s hand burned. Myrcella turned to glare at her mother, freshly slapped cheek turning pink. “Voluntarily?” Cersei asked disbelievingly. “You were stealing away in the dead of night with the Dornish _voluntarily_?”

“You can’t delay us forever, Mother. The match has been arranged for years. I flowered three moons ago. In Dorne-“

Cersei raised her hand to strike again, but stopped herself as Myrcella cringed. “You are twelve years old, Myrcella. Do not speak of marriage again.”

“I love him! He loves me! Why shouldn’t we marry? Wouldn’t that be best for the realm?”

“Obviously the Dornish care nothing about the stability of the realm. I’m looking out for your safety; yours and your brother’s.”

“Why do you have to be so selfish? Just because you can’t marry who you love-”

Cersei pinked Myrcella’s other cheek. “You are not this stupid. The only reason to smuggle you out of King’s Landing is to have you under their control while they kill your brother.”

“They would never hurt Tommen!”

“Of course they would. Their interests are not advanced otherwise. And you - you’d be crowned queen but never see the light of day again. Bred like a broodmare until you produce a son for them to sit on the throne, then unceremoniously pushed out a tower. Is that what you want?”

“That’s not what would happen! When Trystane and I wed, you’ll see. Doran treats me as a daughter, and he’s far kinder than you!”

Cersei’s demeanor switched from furious to cool in an instant. “If you’ve ever believed anything I’ve said, believe this: you are never marrying that boy now.”

“I hate you! I HATE YOU!” Myrcella yelled. Cersei could hear it echoing through the halls as she made her way down to the dungeons.

 

Oberyn Martell stood shirtless with his arms stretched above his head and tied to a thick iron ring set into the dungeon’s ceiling. Fresh bruises showed on his lean torso illustrating the struggle he’d given the guards during his arrest. Since then, he had regained his equilibrium and awaited his torture with a hint of impatience.

“Prince Oberyn, I’m so glad you were able to spare the time for one more conversation. From the state of your rooms, you and Ellaria were planning on leaving soon,” Cersei said.

“You know how it is. With winter here, the warmth of Dorne calls to us.”

“Of course. But to desert your position on the small council without notice is highly unusual.”

“Ellaria has grown quite eager to return to the children. They are at Hellholt with her father, but girls need their mother, wouldn’t you say?” Oberyn said darkly, growing tired of pretending they were conducting a cordial audience.

“Oh, I would. Indeed. Have a drink with me?” Cersei tipped a goblet of wine toward him in offer.

“None for me, but by all means, indulge.”

“I really must insist.” Cersei nodded at Qyburn who produced a funnel attached to a length of tubing. Guards held Oberyn’s head steady as Qyburn positioned the device in this throat and poured a sharp-smelling mixture down it.

“My Master of Whispers is a researcher at heart, and he’s made some recent discoveries. After _much_ experimentation, he conclusively proved that physical torture is quite effective at getting prisoners to talk. It works a bit too well, however. Eventually they end up saying anything – whatever the questioner suggests – to make the pain to stop. That’s very useful when one just wants a confession. When one wants the truth, however, other means are necessary. Wine, for example, has a way of cutting through to the truth even against a person’s conscious will. Qyburn’s made some distillations, some improvements…”

Cersei turned to Qyburn, “Don’t give him too much. I’d prefer he survive this.”

“Oh, he’ll survive. The worst effect so far has been blindness.” Qyburn removed the funnel. Oberyn tried to make himself vomit, but his positioning and otherwise empty stomach made it impossible. “The effects should be apparent in mere minutes.”

Cersei began the questioning with a summary. “You had one daughter stationed here as a septa – my condolences, by the way. She killed Loras Tyrell, opening up a Kingsguard slot for you to slip in another daughter under a false name. She was to, what, kill Tommen while you spirited away with Myrcella? Is that the rough shape of it?”

“No,” Oberyn shook his head side to side in flat denial. At first Cersei thought the potion wasn’t strong enough, then he continued, “kill them both. Kill you all. All the Lannisters.”

“Myrcella and Trystane would never have a child, then. He’d never be king regent,” Cersei said confused.

“Not about that. Never about that. Vengeance. Justice.”

“You had your justice! I gave you Gregor Clegane.”

“But not your father. Need to hear his confession. All the people need to know his hand pulled the puppet strings. Good he still lives. He’ll see you all dead. He’ll suffer as we did. Justice.”

“So you kill my children for your perverted sense of justice. Don’t you know, in your heart of hearts, that will only lead to my kin targeting yours for the next generation? And back and forth forever.”

“Good. We will win. You are weak.”

“Obviously. We only control the capital, the best farm land, the best fishing land, and the richest mines. How can that compete with your sand wastes and occasional olive tree?” Cersei said, her temper breaking through. She was nearly ready to have Qyburn shackle Oberyn and send him to rot away in the black cells with the rest of the Dornish.

“Haha. Now you do. But not for long,” Oberyn said. His laughter sounded mad, but there was menace in his tone.

“Oh?”

“There is another. Young. Beautiful. She will make this city your funeral pyre. Yours and all your family. We will dance amid the ashes. An old love brings renewal.”

“Are you talking about Daenerys? The dragon queen?”

“The dragon has three heads. They will consume all you hold dear,” Oberyn raved. The coherence had largely vanished from his speech, and he could no longer give responsive answers. Still, the memories of old prophesy rang in Cersei’s ears. She felt the words ricochet relentlessly in her mind, to the point that she wanted to cover her ears and scream to block them out. She slowly backed away.

“Give him plenty of water,” she told Qyburn. “I may need to question him again.”

 

Jaime and Brienne arrived home to find the city still reeling from the confusion. People knew that the small council was in disarray but not why. Well-connected Dornish merchants and craftsmen had fled the city leaving behind shops, homes, and debts (whenever possible). Weapon shops did brisk business as rumors of war ramped up again. The Crown’s remaining warships held position off the coast of Tarth readying for orders to sail south.

Ser Arryk, formerly known as Right, was elevated to the Kingsguard in place of the false Ser Remyn. The loss of his twin seemed to have shattered his personality, however. His grief hit him in strange ways that were hard for anyone else to understand. He did not accept an offer of leave to accompany his brother’s body to the Reach for burial, requesting to stay at his post instead. An unspoken agreement among the Kingsguard made sure he was never alone.

Amidst all the turmoil, Tyrion managed to slide in one bit of bright news. Sansa would provide Brienne and Jaime’s child with a cousin in a half-year. Brienne felt both relieved to have someone to commiserate with and excited to be able to mentor the young woman through what could be a stressful time. Another Lannister for the line of succession, she realized, and another innocent for the Martells to target.

Cersei waited with bated breath as time enough passed for even a stealthy ship to have reached Dorne. Prince Doran would then know that his brother and son hadn’t escaped King’s Landing. He would have Margaery as a hostage against any attack from the armies of the Reach, but had to speculate to what extent his treason had been exposed.

They would need to play a game of bluff and counter-bluff. Doran didn’t know how much Oberyn had told her about their nascent alliance with Daenerys. Cersei didn’t know how much he had managed to withhold. Most frustratingly for her, Oberyn had not provided any timetable for an invasion. All she could be sure of was that no troops had yet arrived from Essos – Jaime and Brienne could hardly have missed dragons, Dothraki, and Unsullied as they sailed the length of Dorne.

Finally, Doran’s next move arrived.

“We’ve had a raven from Sunspear, my queen,” grandmaester Pycelle said.

“What is the message?” Cersei asked.

“Queen Margaery has arrived safely. Would the king like to discuss arrangements for her return trip?”

Cersei put on her best political smile. “Let him know that I have eagerly awaited the opportunity. So very many Dornish linger here in the cold. With the right compensation, they may be reunited with their homeland.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus the Dorne plot begins to implode again, some more. The Martells are fairly reprehensible for holding grudges against and clearly intending to kill people who had no part in the original events. Still, you’ve kind of got to feel for them. Nobody snatches defeat from the jaws of victory like the Dornish.


	48. King's Landing XXI - Tansy

On receipt of a white raven from the Citadel announcing the beginning of winter, tradition held that the liege lord of each region would host a final harvest feast. Having such a celebration reminded the people that they were part of a community that would brave the coming hardships together. For King’s Landing, this meant every public square would be decorated and provisioned, at nigh ruinous expense. The Crown would need to import extensive caravans of vegetables, grains, poultry, and meat by borrowing money from the Iron Bank, a renewed possibility thanks to the convenient fall of House Frey.

Highgarden proved less generous than usual with their bounty, begging pardon that they had so many foreign soldiers to feed in the Reach. Queen Cersei knew it had more to do with Margaery still being held at Sunspear. She was working as quickly as she could, but these arrangements took time, something neither Olenna Tyrell nor King Tommen seemed inclined to understand.

Cersei fussed over the fare for the high table in an effort to be the perfect hostess. Brienne would eat anything, bless her, and Tyrion was fine so long as his wine goblet remained filled, but Sansa was at the stage of pregnancy where she was difficult to please. Currently, she was put off by sweets, but last week it had been fatty foods. Most of all, though she wouldn’t admit it, Cersei wanted to please Myrcella. They hadn’t had a civil conversation since the Dornish were arrested, and her daughter had been on a bit of a hunger strike. Whether she didn’t eat due to worry over Trystane or churlish rebellion, Cersei couldn’t be sure, but she wanted it to stop. She would, perhaps, allow them a farewell visit if Myrcella behaved herself at the banquet.

The resulting spread was extravagant even by Lannister standards. The feast tables held every manner of late harvest vegetable many prepared in numerous styles, stewed greens, freshly baked bread, wild boar, herb-roasted chicken, and seared ox meat. Hundreds of noble guests from the Crownlands (and a few wealthy merchants from the city at the lower tables) assembled in the main courtyard of the Red Keep to enjoy the feast. Such a crowd had not gathered on the Keep’s grounds since Joffrey’s wedding, but Cersei tried to push away the memories of that ill-omened day.

Every servant in the Keep was engaged in traveling among the tables to refill wine goblets, carry salt cellars, or replenish empty platters. The guests ate heartily, and as usual, Brienne did not hold herself to a ladylike standard. Cersei felt glad to see Brienne enjoying herself; lately she’d been growing nervous again about the birth. Brienne rubbed at her belly, obviously feeling some cramping. As a woman’s time approached, the muscles around the womb frequently went through cycles of tightening. ‘It’s for practice, like training at sparring. Don’t worry, it happens to every mother-to-be,’ Cersei often reassured her.

The men at the tables enjoyed playing host, carving meat from the joints for the ladies. Lord Baelish may have gotten overly involved in the role, filling Brienne’s plate again and again with ox meat. She started to become annoyed and went around him for variety, yet he persisted. “Red meat builds up your strength, my lady. You’ll need it soon for the delivery,” he said. She scowled, reminded again of her inescapable fate within the next moon.

Cersei thought the cooks had performed admirably. All the dishes were well-prepared with rich, complex flavors… especially the chicken. There must be some exotic Esson spice in the chicken; she couldn’t quite place it. Her guests should all leave with full bellies and pleasant memories of a evening spend under the care of their liege. Tommen, of course, officially conducted the meal, but he had been far too worried about Margaery to do much in the way of organizing it. He’d led a opening toast and prayer, which was all his mother had asked.

“Cersei,” Brienne said timidly from beside her, “it’s never hurt this badly before. Might it be time?”

She should have a few weeks left, but Brienne wasn’t one to complain frivolously about pain. Cersei ran her hand over Brienne’s belly and found it firm as an oaken plank. “Have you felt any liquids run out?” If her membranes had ruptured, the baby would come today, like it or not.

“I think I might be bleeding,” Brienne said.

That raised Cersei’s alarm. There shouldn’t be any bleeding at this stage; it could be dangerous. “Stand up,” Cersei said.

Brienne did, and Cersei’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Blood showed through on the back of Brienne’s dress. She’d bled through her smallclothes and petticoat since dinner began.

Cersei turned to Jaime. “Help Brienne get to Qyburn right away. He’s our best at medical treatments. Show him what’s happening and see what he thinks needs to be done.”

With Jaime’s support, Brienne managed to mince her way through the door into the Red Keep from the courtyard. Jaime encouraged her to walk faster, but she shook her head. She doubled over, and her face contorted in agony as the strongest pain yet compressed her belly. Jaime witnessed blood running freely from between her legs, making a small pool on the floor. Shock and a surge of strength flooded his system. He scooped her up and ran.

 

At the banquet, Cersei was distracted from her worries about her goodsister by a persistent snuffling from down the table. Robin Arryn was trying to get Lord Baelish to help him tend to a nose bleed. Baelish had his eyes on the door Brienne had gone through and looked concerned. Cersei heard a stifled grunt on her left side and saw Sansa with her hands on her stomach, panting noticeably.

Something was very wrong. Cersei looked around searching for a common thread. Most of the partygoers seemed fine, except at the high table. Here, many of the women, even the big gossips from Highgarden, sat in silence with pinched, uncomfortable expressions. Cersei’s own belly began to cramp. It felt familiar, and there was also a familiar aftertaste. Like moon tea… or tansy. Low doses of tansy were in moon tea; it thinned the blood and encouraged the womb to shed its lining. Higher doses could be taken for more desperate measures, with a commiserate increase in risk. Her eyes fell on the herbed chicken. Yes, tansy could explain the strange taste.

She stood, pitching her voice carefully to avoid alarming anyone beyond the high table, “Everyone stop eating; the food has been dosed.”

Ser Boros stepped forward, “I assure you, I tasted everything, your Grace.”

“It’s a toxin for women,” she said. She couldn’t help thinking about the cells full of Dornish prisoners below the Keep. Was this meant to somehow gain their freedom? “Take Lady Sansa to Grandmaester Pycelle,” she ordered Ser Boros.

“Is there any other woman who is with child here?” Cersei asked. No one spoke up, thank the gods. “Then you should be fine. You may experience an early turn of the moon, however.”

“Clear this away,” she ordered the servants. “Don’t even feed it to the dogs. Bring out the fruit and pies.”

She resumed her seat, knowing that her continued presence was the only thing preventing a panic. Someone would pay, she vowed. And if Brienne or the child died, the price would be tenfold in blood.

 

Jaime carried Brienne to Qyburn’s laboratory and placed her on a freshly scrubbed table. Brienne’s wildly roaming eyes took in strange pickled shapes floating in jars and sharp-looking instruments whose form gave little clue to their use. She saw troubling stains permanently etched into the wood of the table, and couldn’t miss the leather restraining straps hanging to either side. Jaime explained what he could about the sudden bleeding and strong pains while Qyburn cut away her dress and began to examine her.

“You’re still about a moon from your expected date, is that right?” he asked.

“Yes, maybe a bit less.”

“Lord Commander!” Boros barged into the room. “We can’t find Pycelle.” Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand and told her he’d be right back. He stepped into the hallway to rattle off some possible locations for Pycelle, starting with whorehouses and ending with the wine cellar. Tyrion stood there with Boros, clearly beside himself with worry.

“It’s for Sansa,” Tyrion said, his eyes casting about piteously. “She might be losing the baby.”

Misled by the apparent calm in Qyburn’s expression as he’d examined Brienne, Jaime allowed himself some time to reflect. Pycelle was a horny old drunkard it was true, but this time of day, he’d more likely be… “The west-facing library. He takes in the sunset and naps. You go to Sansa, keep her calm,” he said to Tyrion, with a guilty glance at the door to Qyburn’s laboratory. “Boros and I will haul Pycelle down to his study by force if necessary.”

 

“Relax your legs. Let me determine what’s happening internally.” Qyburn did not have the most empathetic bedside manner, but his matter-of-fact nature helped Brienne get past her ingrained shame about allowing a man to touch that area of her body. She let her legs fall open and felt him insert his fingers inside of her. Every movement seemed to encourage more blood to flow out.

Qyburn finished his examination and moved up to speak with Brienne face to face. “There is a part of the womb that holds itself shut until the child is ready to come. The baby’s head won’t fit through until it’s open. We need to get yours to open as fast as we can.”

“What happens if it’s too slow?” she asked

“Why, you bleed to death,” he said, as if the matter should be obvious. “I have an ointment that should help,” he continued, starting to step away.

Brienne grabbed his robe before he could get out of her reach. “If that’s going to happen – if I’m going to die anyway – you take one these many sharp knives I see and cut into me until you find the baby. Do anything you need to do to make sure it lives.”

He considered for a beat. “There is another possibility. We can conclude your labor sooner and get the bleeding stopped if the babe comes out in pieces-”

Qyburn gagged as she pulled him in close until she held the collar of his robe in her fist. “Anything you do to the babe gets done to you. I vow it.” Qyburn was not a religious man, but he was fairly sure he saw the fury of the Mother herself shining in Brienne’s eyes.

“Understood. Now let me go so I can help you both.”

She did, and Qyburn stepped back quickly. He retrieved the ointment and began spreading it inside her. It should relax the muscle, and if nothing else, would provide some numbing relief. “If your lord husband asks about our options, I won’t mention that one,” he said.

Brienne raised her gaze to meet his. Already lightheaded, she could feel the warm blood continuing to pour out of her… _it’s coming faster if I’m not mistaken… does that mean I’m opening?_ Scared but resolved, she nodded her thanks. _I’ll stay awake until Jaime gets back_ , she promised herself. _I might not live to see the babe’s eyes, but I will see his again._

He made it, barely.

 

Brienne heard a baby gurgling. With some difficulty, she opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar young woman sitting near her bedside nursing a small infant. The woman startled when she noticed Brienne watching her.

“M’lady! Oh, the Ser is going to be so happy to hear you’re awake. I’ll fetch him for you. No! Don’t move. I’ll bring her to you.”

The young woman, really more of a girl, walked over cradling her precious cargo. “She’s very strong m’lady. Good appetite. You’ve been asleep two days, and I swear she’s grown even in that time.”

She laid the tiny bundle next to Brienne and helped prop her mistress up in bed ever so slightly. “You’ve got to move careful now so as not to start yourself bleeding again. Easy and soft, okay? I’m runnin’ to get Ser Jaime fast as I can.”

True to her word, the wet nurse sprinted out of the room, unlaced shirt and all. Brienne was left a little out of sorts, not knowing exactly what to do with the newborn babe. It (she? Brienne was pretty sure she’d heard ‘she’) had a ruddy scrunched face, wispy golden hair, and tiny clenched fists, and was well swaddled in a familiar royal blue baby blanket with lions, suns, and moons.

Jaime came running down the hall so fast he nearly overshot the door. These weren’t their usual rooms, Brienne realized. Of course, their usual rooms were part of Cersei’s suite, and she supposed that wouldn’t do at the moment. Jaime grabbed onto the doorframe to stop himself and straightened his clothes to regain his dignity.

“Oh thank the gods it’s true. That woman tells me every time you twitch. She said your eyes were open and you were talking this time, though.”

Brienne didn’t think she’d done much more than grunt, but her heart rejoiced to see Jaime.

“How is she?” Brienne asked, lightly touching their daughter.

“She’s perfect, Brienne. About eight pounds, they say. Very healthy for a regular babe, much less one who came early.”

“And me? I’ve really been unconscious for two days?”

“You – you had a lot of bleeding. Certainly gave us a scare. It’s stopped now, though, and Qyburn thinks you will be fine in the long run.”

“Jaime, please tell me the truth,” Brienne begged.

“You nearly died, you stubborn wench. Under anyone else you probably would have.” Qyburn had told him of their discussion/threat/agreement after the birth was done. Jaime loved his baby so much his heart ached, but the idea that Brienne put her own life in jeopardy to bring the child forth alive – and that Qyburn had let her – clouded his mind with terror and a strange resentment. It was an impossible choice, and she’d done him the great favor of making it without asking his opinion. He still wished there was someone he could yell at about it.

“What did he do to save me?”

“He took some of my blood and ran it into your veins using a pair of very large needles and some rubber tubing. He said it most likely wouldn’t work, but it did. It did.” Jaime felt tears that he hadn’t even realized he was shedding drip from his chin. He let go of his inchoate anger, remembering Qyburn’s sympathetic face and Brienne’s blue-white skin. _‘This sometimes makes matters worse, my lord, but there’s not much further down for her to go. It is a chance. That’s all I can offer.’_ Jaime sniffed to poorly disguise his tears. “So if you’re feeling foolish, it’s because there’s some of me inside of you.”

_Not for the first time,_ Brienne thought, then wondered if perhaps he had a point. “Will I be able to have more children?” she asked.

Jaime pursed his lips. “Perhaps. Qyburn thinks we should wait to see how your body heals. We’ll certainly not want to rush into another. Cersei says the midwife can help you figure out your schedule?” He seemed a bit at sea, and floundered around mentioning the charts and cycles they’d patiently explained. “Right now, don’t worry about it. Try to rest and get your strength back. Would you like to hold her?”

Jaime helped arrange the baby in Brienne’s arms, unwrapping her a bit so Brienne could see what she had accomplished. She examined their daughter, assuring herself that the babe was truly healthy, that this was indeed the tiny twitching thing that had grown inside her for so many moons. Jaime watched over them, adoring, but quiet. Too quiet.

“What else happened? I can tell there’s something you’re not saying.”

“Well… you weren’t the only woman with child at the banquet. Sansa lost hers.”

“Oh no!” Brienne unconsciously pulled her baby closer.

“Pycelle kept her from bleeding too much, and is optimistic about her being able to have others.” She had been an easier case, in a way. Her miscarriage passed quickly, and there was never any hope of saving the babe.

Jaime continued with difficulty, “And – and Myrcella. The morning after the banquet, she didn’t rise for breakfast. Her maid brought her a tray and found her in bed. She’d bled to death during the night. She must have conceived a child, I assume with Trystane. I don’t know if she knew. I don’t know if she suffered. She may have slept through it all, or she may have been too afraid to ask for help.” Jaime looked up, his eyes bottomless pools of grief.

“Myrcella… Myrcella is only a child herself! And Cersei… how is Cersei? ” Brienne tried to get up but the dull, insistent pain in her midsection, as well as Jaime’s gentle push, settled her back down.

“Cersei is not doing well. The maesters are dosing her with sleeping syrup to keep her placid. I’m not sure whether to worry more about her hurting herself or declaring war on Dorne.” Brienne could tell from his eyes that he wasn’t joking. Myrcella had always been Cersei’s unspoken favorite.

“How can life be so awful and so wonderful at the same time?” Brienne caressed her daughter’s cheek. She seemed a good-natured baby, not colicky or fussy like Father said she herself had been. “Did you name her? On her nameday, did you name her?” It was terrible luck, almost unthinkable, for a babe to pass her first nameday without being given a name. Brienne couldn’t hold it against him, though, if he’d forgotten in all the tragedy.

“I did. I hope you’ll understand, it was a shattering day for me as well. I was not entirely myself and only trying to do my best to honor my lost daughter.” _And you,_ he didn’t say, _I was nearly sure I’d lose you too._ “I named her Myrianne. We’ve all been calling her Merry.” _Because she’s been the only bright spot in our lives. Welcome back, wench. Thank you for coming back._

 


	49. King's Landing XXII - Repercussions

The city of King’s Landing mourned its lost princess. Myrcella had been loved by the people, especially the nobles who saw in her a delightful crossing of the Lannister cleverness and the Baratheon charm. Many had counted on her advising her future husband into arrangements that helped strengthen their part of the realm. There was a great deal of anger brewing against Dorne within the city. First the Dornish kidnapped the kind, young queen, then they compounded their guilt by poisoning an innocent girl. Quite a few citizen spoke openly of assembling a crusade to march down the mountain passes and ‘show those cowards what it’s like to fight men rather than little girls.’

King Tommen's mind was in turmoil. His wife had sheltered him; his sister doted on him, and now he’d lost them both. He felt that his inaction branded him a failure both as a man and a king. His mother had taken charge of negotiating for the release of Margaery, with well-established channels of communication and Dornish prisoners as bargaining chips. All he could do was vow to grow stronger to meet future challenges. He’d secured one small victory: his sister’s funeral rites would be performed by the High Septon himself. Mother hadn’t wanted to allow this, considering what he’d put her through, but Tommen insisted. The High Septon was the man closest to the gods, and Myrcella’s soul deserved the best escort to the Seven Heavens possible.

The first day of Myrcella’s viewing while she lay in state was well attended, but filled Cersei with nothing but bile. Even the bright winter’s sunshine seemed to mock her, beautiful but yielding no warmth. Receiving condolences only made her wonder what the mourners wanted from her by making a public show of their grief. She came to respect more those who said nothing and merely tried to make the days more bearable. Her ever-faithful maid, Dorcas, for example, took special care in laying out her clothes and helping her attend to matters of grooming she may otherwise have neglected.

Cersei summoned up all her regal mien when she visited Brienne in her recovery room. She’d meant to flatly forbid her from attending the funeral. Brienne had only regained consciousness two days ago, but Cersei knew she’d hurt herself trying to go. Instead, she ended up blubbering in her strong arms. Seeing big, tireless Brienne laid low by something as common as childbirth made it impossible to conceal her own pain any longer. She wept herself hollow; wept until she felt there could be no more tears in the world. All the while, Brienne had held her tightly and murmured loving phrases into her hair.

Cersei fell into an exhausted doze afterward, her head on Brienne’s chest. She woke when she felt her stiffen and lift her chin. Cersei raised her head; Jaime had entered carrying the baby. Brienne tried to motion for him to leave, but Cersei waved him closer. She’d thought this would be hard, but it wasn’t really. Those first few days had admittedly been confusing. Cersei knew she’d called Merry by the wrong name a couple of times. Now, she could see that the baby didn’t look anything like Myrcella, even as an infant. She seemed to favor Brienne more than Jaime, but perhaps that was just the eyes.

 

Brienne sometimes felt the depths of her incompetence for this role knew no bounds. Now she couldn’t do something even farm animals managed.

“M’lady, a useful way to do it is-”

“Please stop calling me that. I’m no lady,” Brienne said. Merry squirmed in her arms. She must be able to smell the milk, but they seemed to be having difficulty encouraging her lips to latch on to the nipple.

“Well, I’m not going to call you Ser. Not when I’m doing this,” Tara, the wet nurse said. She reached underneath to put pressure on each side of Brienne’s breast. She pulled down, bringing her thumb and fingers together in a gentle squeeze that brought forth a pearly white drop of milk. The mechanics were not the slightest bit different from milking a dairy goat, Brienne noticed though she wished she hadn’t.

“Since you’re touching my breast, I think we’re on a first name basis. Might they be too small?” Brienne asked.

“Of course not!” Tara laughed, not realizing Brienne was completely serious. “Girls flat as a board give suck. We’ve just got to get her comfortable. Support her head with this hand, and her body like so. Now, here’s a li’l trick,” she circled her finger around Merry’s lips, and the baby instinctively began to suck. “There! Nothing to it!”

“That feels so strange,” Brienne said. Her milk flowing left an unusual buzzing sensation behind that was also somehow a relief. It felt oddly like going to the garderobe after holding it off for too long.

“You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to,” Tara said. “I make plenty for Merry and Wilber both.”

“Wilber’s your son? Merry’s milkbrother?” Brienne asked.

“Yeah,” Tara smiled involuntarily. “He’s almost two moons old now. Healthy and strong.” She giggled. “I think Merry’s almost as big, though. The way she eats, she’s gonna… I think she’ll have some size on her, m’lady.”

Brienne rolled her eyes; that would hardly be a surprise. “You could bring him with you from now on. My father always said it was healthy for milk brothers and sister to grow up together. But yes, I do want to nurse her. Like you say, she’s hungry all the time, and I want to give her what I can. My goodsister said nursing her daughter was the closest she’d ever felt to another person.”

Brienne’s face grew pained at the thought of what Cersei must be going through. She visited every day, haunted and in pain, but still holding together. She’d cuddle Merry and kiss Brienne and praise the gods they both lived. Cersei and Brienne vowed vengeance together against whoever had hurt Myrcella. Even if such retribution could be a long time coming, having the goal would help Cersei stay focused on the future, rather than dwelling in the past.

 

The first time since Merry’s birth that Brienne descended the stairs to the dining room was cause for minor celebration. Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion were all there, along with Brienne’s favorite foods piled high in disregard of the season. Brienne tucked in with abandon. Her maids had tried to satisfy her, but they didn’t understand how emphatically she meant ‘a large helping’ or ‘lots of meat’ or ‘more than you could eat, seriously.’

“You didn’t plant another already, did you Jaime? She still eats like she’s feeding an army,” Tyrion teased. It had become a habit for him to try to make everything he said amusing in an effort to cheer Sansa. For a while, he’d thought he might have to resort to motley and cartwheels, but she was coming back to herself day by day. Always supportive of family, she realized how badly they needed each other at this time.

Jaime scowled at Tyrion’s joke in an unconscious imitation of his wife. Brienne was far too pained for intimacy yet, and even once she was well, another pregnancy could be dangerous. He didn’t appreciate being reminded of that.

“She can eat whatever she wants. She’s turning much of it into milk. Would you have your niece go hungry?” defended Cersei.

“Of course not; my apologies,” Tyrion said. Opposing Jaime, Cersei, and Brienne when they were in a unified front was not a battle worth fighting.

“Has Qyburn gotten anything further from Oberyn lately?” Jaime asked. He knew enough of the methods of Cersei and Qyburn’s interrogation to not want to ask for more detail. Still, Oberyn had dropped some interesting tidbits at the extremes of the treatment.

“Not in specific. He often comes back to the Dragon Queen. I wonder if his reason is starting to fade,” Cersei said with a glance at Brienne. Her dear one sometimes caused her determination to waver, but she knew this cause was righteous. Brienne’s high-minded ideals did not always suit the situation on the ground. Best she know little about this.

“Are there any avenues of inquiry you’ve not yet fully plumbed?” Tyrion asked. He, too, knew that Brienne’s presence limited the scope of the discussion. Had he been feeling a little less vengeful himself, he might have decided to open her eyes.

“I’d like to know if there is any way for Dorne to be in contact with Daenerys,” Cersei said.

“I don’t see how,” Jaime said.

“Perhaps,” Brienne said, looking pensive. “Jaime, remember that letter we had for Oberyn from his former paramour in Volantis? I always felt guilty about not delivering it, but what happened to it? I believe Daenerys may have kept it when she took us prisoner. If she found Lady Orentha in Volantis, then she may have learned of the Dornish grievances. I imagine that Daenerys would be sympathetic to the loss of Elia and her children. Perhaps they negotiated an alliance. Lady Orentha could have helped her set it up through the merchant fleet.”

“If that’s the case, no wonder Dorne’s feeling frisky. They’re expecting a shipment of dragons,” Jaime said. “I suppose the idea would be that Daenerys’ forces join with Dorne's to conquer the realms, then she marries Quentyn or even Oberyn. She hasn’t yet arrived, though. Brienne and I are familiar with her troops, and we would have noticed dragons, Dothraki, and Unsullied soldiers milling about Dorne.”

“We can make our own counter strategies now. I suppose it’s good that I have a dungeon full of Dornish nobles,” Cersei said. At Brienne’s reproachful look she continued, “They are fine. Really, I’m quite proud of my restraint.”

 

Jaime’s duties for the evening were complete, and he was on his way to bask in the sensation of folding his wife and daughter into his arms. There was nothing more heart-warming than feeling Merry moving against his chest while Brienne slumbered by his side. In those moments, he could forget the past and not worry about the future. He slowed his gait, however, when he saw his brother heading toward the Tower of the Hand.

“What calls you to work at this hour?” Jaime asked. He walked over to better greet Tyrion, pleased to find no smell of wine about him.

“I’ve been trying to find some sense behind the poisoning, but I cannot. I decided to look over all the recent correspondence again,” Tyrion explained.

“It was obviously no accident,” Jaime said. “And with Margaery’s abduction-”

“I've turned it over every possible way. I'm convinced now that this wasn’t Dorne,” Tyrion said. He looked up at Jaime through red-rimmed eyes. Jaime couldn't determine whether their state came from fatigue or grief. Probably both; he was very familiar with the ease in which one transformed to the other.

“It was poison,” Jaime said, though his own caution to Olenna Tyrell echoed in his memory, _‘Not all poison comes from Dorne.’_

“Prince Doran had no motivation to hurt Myrcella, or Sansa, Brienne, or Robin Arryn for that matter. A mass poisoning would hardly help his negotiating position for the return of the Dornish prisoners. He has to know that.”

“Who then? The Tyrells, to frame Dorne and rid themselves of Tommen’s heir?”

Tyrion made a face and shook his head. “I don’t even think Myrcella was the target. No one knew about her circumstances, correct? Her death was a tragedy, but we must look beyond it.”

“Brienne suffered the most, after Myrcella,” Jaime said. That was perhaps not entirely accurate, depending on how one looked at it. Brienne and their child had nearly died, which filled Jaime with too many emotions to catalogue. However, she and Merry were both recovering well. Robin Arryn, on the other hand, seemed to have sustained longer lasting damage. He slurred his words, and the pupil of one eye was permanently stuck open wide. Also, he acted even stranger and more childish than before.

“Brienne has no enemies. Obviously there are some who resent her position in the Kingsguard or perhaps the… rumors about her and Cersei that the Faith brought up,” Tyrion studiously avoided his brother’s eyes. “But I just don’t see the Faith making this sort of attack.”

“And Sansa – everybody loves Sansa!” Jaime said. A bit recklessly he added, “Even Cersei, and she _hated_ Ned Stark. She sees Sansa as having the necessary force of personality to lead House Lannister. I mean, under your guidance, of course.”

Tyrion smirked. He supposed it was now an open secret now that while he could mastermind a plan, practical logistics and negotiation were in the domain of his wife. “It’s almost like it was chaos for chaos’ sake. Who gains from that? No one. Not even Daenerys, if she frames her Dornish allies.”

“I don’t know what to tell Cersei. She’s starting to worry that there are no fresh leads to investigate. She may take drastic action before long,” Jaime said.

“I have a bit of advice. The family will all go to Casterly Rock for Myrcella’s interment. You, Brienne, and Cersei should stay there for a while. Let Cersei have someplace to grieve where every turn of the corridor doesn’t remind her of Myrcella. It will give her time to recover before she does something irrevocable.”

 

Queen Cersei and her guards waited at dusk near the secluded cove. Usually an entry point for illicit drugs or refugees from another land’s justice, today it would serve to conceal the exchange of some high value prisoners. The Dornish cutter, a fast ship capable of precise maneuvering, came into view, and Ser Arryk signaled to it with a hooded lantern.

Four Dornish men-at-arms hopped out and ran the boat onto shore. No less a personage than Quentyn Martell stood at the bow. Doran Martell could not make the trip himself, but sending his eldest son was his way of showing that he treated this mission with the respect it deserved. With the great care of a born gentleman, Quentyn offered his arm to the female figure in the boat. Queen Margaery pulled herself up and stood beside him, an inscrutable expression on her face. Margaery appeared uninjured, but Cersei knew well that appearances in those matters could be deceiving.

Cersei nodded at her guards, and they began to lead out the Dornish prisoners. Trystane Martell was at the head of the line, followed by Oberyn, then Ellaria Sand, and a dozen other Dornish nobles who’d been taken for interrogation when Queen Margaery had been kidnapped. Trystane led the procession because Oberyn was nearly blind from all Qyburn’s treatments. He seemed content to keep his mouth shut about it for now, presumably considering that getting free of King’s Landing was the best medicine.

Cersei and Quentyn regarded one another for a long moment. She nodded, then he did. Quentyn bowed to Queen Margaery, “You will always be welcome at Sunspear, Your Grace,” he said, attempting to kiss her hand goodbye.

Margaery sidestepped him with no consideration for propriety. She joined Ser Arryk by Cersei’s side. “Let me be clear: if I never see that miserable, sandy, arid, pile of gull dung you mistake for a city again, it will be too soon,” Margaery spat.

Once all the Dornish had made their way to shore, Cersei rudely dismissed them. “Our business is concluded. Be on your way.”

“Yes, I believe that would be best.” Quentyn resumed his seat in the boat, and the others began to board.

“Nothing may ever seem fair to me again, but twenty to one will have to do.” Confusion didn’t have long to mar Quentyn’s face. “Kill them all. Tow their ship out to sea and burn it,” Cersei said.

A division of Crown crossbowmen emerged from concealment behind the seawall. They feathered the Dornish, who were sitting ducks in the low ground, clustered around their boat.

The two queens and their loyal guards made their way back to the Red Keep. They both realized that Doran would soon learn something had gone amiss and know in his heart that it was no accident at sea. Neither cared. Margaery now owed the Lannisters for a second rescue. Being so in debt was odd for a Tyrell; usually her family held the strings. Cersei felt no joy from her retribution, just a cold satisfaction. Doran had taken her daughter; she’d taken two sons and a brother. If she’d listened to Oberyn with more comprehension, she’d have understood the Dornish nature meant that could never be the end of it.

 


	50. Casterly Rock II - Recuperation

For Cersei, Myrcella’s interment at Casterly Rock proved more heartbreaking than her funeral rites in King’s Landing. There, she could pretend Myrcella was sleeping – she’d looked like she was sleeping – and not have to contemplate a future without her. Facing the family tomb, however, made clear that this farewell was forever. No one could cheer or console her, though Brienne tried to distract her from her grief by submitting to endless tours of the Rock. Cersei was told nothing of the increasingly urgent missives from Dorne. King Tommen and Mace Tyrell (recalled from Storm’s End to act as Hand in Tyrion’s absence) were left to respond with honest innocence about the matter of the missing ship.

After a few turns of the moon, Cersei began to open to the world again. She led Brienne onto the top of the highest tower that emerged from the Rock for some fresh air. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue, and the brisk breeze carried a pleasant scent of the sea. Brienne kept herself very close by in case Cersei had any impulsive, self-destructive ideas.

“Do you know, I never wanted to be queen,” Cersei said. “It was Tywin’s dream for me, to be sure. First he tried to espouse me to Rhaegar Targaryen, whom I fancied from a distance. What little girl doesn’t dream of marrying a handsome prince? Well, perhaps you didn’t. You’re much more sensible.“

“I did, my queen. I dreamt of Lord Renly.”

“There you are, then. Even the sensible girls can have their heads turned by beauty and power. Your fantasy would have worked out about as well as mine, I fear. Once I met Rhaegar at court, I no longer desired him. Like all Targaryens, he was strange and obsessed with destiny. He talked endlessly of dragons. He wasn’t yet as mad as his father, but I don’t believe he would have ended up so different had he lived as long.”

“What were your own dreams then?”

Cersei gestured to the landscape. “This. Here. I only wanted to be the Lady of Casterly Rock. To marry Jaime and raise our children in this castle I love. The smallfolk would have accepted it in time, I think. If I proved an able steward of the lands and Jaime used the Lannister army to protect us from all challenges. It could have been wonderful, a golden kingdom.”

Brienne took her time in replying. No, she knew, the smallfolk would never have accepted it. No, she couldn’t have closed them off from the rest of the world’s conflicts. No, their children would not have grown up happy with bright futures. _Cersei is the idealist; I’m the practical one – she has us pegged correctly._

“Your Grace, the fates called you to greater challenges, and I believe they always would have. You are a force of nature. You bend the world to your will. That’s what the Red Witch said: you would be a great power for good in the world.” Or evil, but Brienne chose not to mention that part.

“That crazy Dornish bitch, Arianne Martell, had the right of it. She told Myrcella that she should rule, and she was right. She was right. Of my three children, the only one not to sit the throne was the only one with the proper temperament. Joffrey was too cruel and selfish. Yes, I knew it; everyone knew it. Tommen, gods preserve him; I would die for him, but he’s too weak and pliable. Myrcella was her own woman, with a clever mind and a kind heart.”

“Yes she was, Your Grace. I wish the fates had treated her in the manner she deserved. I am sure the gods will treasure her.”

 

Sometimes they could watch battles at sea from the towers. The land incursions from Euron’s Ironborn had all but stopped after the arrival of reinforcements from the Lannister army, but the struggles at sea were vicious. Euron’s infamous black-sailed flagship, the _Silence_ was always identifiable leading the charge into the thick of battle. He fought recklessly, using his kraken-shaped ramming rod and spiked boarding plank to fend off many times his number in longships and Crown vessels. The battles resembled a bear being piled upon by wild dogs. Generally, Euron’s superior might managed to sink several of the smaller ships before sustaining enough damage that he needed to fall back for repairs. He always held a pair of his own vessels in reserve to delay pursuers, often by heedless, sacrificial attacks.

The tongueless crew fished from the waters could tell no tales against their captain. Rarely, one would write a few words on a parchment. Some asked for the gift of death; others proclaimed that Euron would be the eternal king. One merely wrote ‘rum.’ He’d been the closest to reasonable, so naturally his fellow crewmen strangled him with his own chains before his request could be fulfilled.

The observers could see that the battles were gradually trending in the Crown’s favor. At first, they could only be observed through a Myrish lens facing south, but as more time passed, they migrated steadily northward. Euron took too many loses and captured too few ships to maintain his strategy. Lord Selwyn had wised ordered all legitimate merchant traffic to receive Crown escorts north of Lannisport. The fighting finally traveled past the peninsula north of Casterly Rock, and they could watch no longer. Reportedly, Euron planned to fall all the way back to the Iron Islands and make his stand there.

Lord Selwyn visited Casterly Rock whenever the _Sweet Cersei_ came to land for resupply. He would tuck his granddaughter into his substantial arms and marvel at her size or beauty or intelligence. Jaime heard many stories about young Brienne on those days. Surprisingly, she hadn’t always had the maturity and strict moral code he’d come to expect. He learned of lamprey pies stolen (‘by Galladon,’ she insisted. ‘I was just the lookout’), dresses despoiled (okay, that one was no surprise), and lessons skipped (‘I became much more studious after I was allowed to train with Ser Goodwin’). Jaime again reflected that as hard as Brienne’s path had been, she’d always had the unconditional love of her father to support her. Merry would have the same, he vowed, so long as he lived.

 

Further along into the visit, Cersei approached Jaime in the sitting room. She had been stronger lately, sometimes insisting on tending to Merry and even Wilber despite the protests of Brienne’s wet nurse, Tara. (The young woman did not take easy to idleness and was close to horrified at the prospect of living as a guest at Casterly Rock with no formal responsibilities).

Cersei asked him, “Are you ever planning on resuming your duties? I’ve been having to pick up your slack for a while now.”

“Doing a lot of Kingsguarding are you?” Jaime asked.

“No, but I’ve been doing your husbandly duties with Brienne.” A maid who’d come to stoke the fire decided it didn’t need to be done just yet and promptly took her leave.

Cersei shot a glance at the departing figure as she continued, “Now, I’m not complaining. I’m happy to keep on making her scream my name until none of the staff here can look me in the face anymore. I’ve found I rather enjoy that. But she misses you. She worries that you don’t find her attractive anymore.”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s… does she bleed?” Jaime asked quietly.

“What do you mean? I’m not that rough.” Cersei wondered if Brienne had tattled about two nights ago. For a hardened warrior, she could still be such a maid about some things.

“I haven’t been with her because I’m afraid. I have nightmares where I pull my cock out and it’s all striped with red. And then the blood pours out of her like wine, and-”

“Jaime, that’s not going to happen.”

“It could, in a way, if I get her with child again. It’s too soon yet, and we don’t know when it will be safe. Don’t tell her, but I think she’s probably not right inside. Her cycles haven’t started again, so she might never be able to safely-”

“Idiot. Her cycles are halted because she’s breastfeeding. Remember after Myrcella.” Cersei’s face pinched with a touch of pain. Her grief could still sneak up on her, but it was no longer omnipresent. “She’ll be back to normal once Merry begins to eat solid food. If you still want to be careful, just plant your seeds on her belly, not in it. It’s not that complicated.” She’d used similar strategies with Robert for years and thus had never been forced to carry the child of the man she’d grown to hate.

“Do you think it might be better if we were all together?”

“Almost certainly,” she said with an superior grin, “I know just what she likes. But for your first reunion you need to do it yourself. Show her she’s still arousing for you.”

“Brienne can be self-deprecating, but I don’t think she’s that stupid.”

If Cersei hadn’t been so shocked, she would have slapped him. “Are you- are you really so unaware? Brienne’s never thought herself at all attractive, and now she feels like whatever beauty she once had is gone. The body she was already ashamed of has new stretch marks and even more freckles. She feels fat and tired and weak. She worries you’re going to take one look at her and run for the hills.”

“She told you all this?” Jaime asked appalled. He’d had no idea.

“No, but it’s how I felt after Joffrey. And I knew I was beautiful to begin with.”

Jaime looked down, humbled. It wasn’t often that Cersei could claim to be more sensitive to another person's emotional needs. “I will make sure she knows it’s not just her spirit I find breathtaking.”

“Good. Oh, and Jaime, don’t forget that her breasts are full of milk. That can be a bit of a surprise if you’re used to taking them into your mouth.”

 

“I have some news for you,” Jaime said, kissing Cersei in greeting. “Good news and better news.”

“Start with the merely good news, then.”

“Both are pretty wonderful, actually. Brienne and I… rejoined. It went very, very well.”

“Did she call my name? If so, you should take it as a compliment.”

“I’m afraid not.” She had been pretty hard to decipher, actually. Her peaks – and there’d been several – mostly rounding off in rough yells or inarticulate moans. He wouldn’t have told Cersei if she had for a million gold dragons, though. “And no blood either. You were right.”

“Of course I was. Did you manage not to plant any new crops?”

Jaime looked around to make sure this would stay private. “I finished in her mouth,” he said in a scandalized whisper.

“What!” Cersei exclaimed. Jaime nodded, wide-eyed.

“I thought that was our thing,” Cersei continued, sounding a bit jealous. “She’s gooood with her mouth though, isn’t she?” Cersei shuddered from the memory to Jaime’s gaping astonishment.

“Excuse me?” Jaime asked. At Cersei’s pout he mumbled, “What do you girls get up to?”

“Fine. I’ll show you how to do it. What is the other good news?”

Temporarily thrown, Jaime had to think for a moment. “Tommen! I received a letter from Ser Arryk saying that Tommen has taken up jousting and sword training, and he is showing real promise at both. Arryk is not prone to flattery; I daresay he means it. Tommen could be a great warrior king, leading battles…” Jaime trailed off, noticing the concern on Cersei’s face. “Not yet, of course. He’s still a boy. Someday, however, he could turn out to be a warrior, like his father.”

“I still would not call that better news,” Cersei said, only somewhat mollified.

“Ser Arryk also said he’s showing more interest in his duties as king. He’s attending small council meetings and putting forth his own questions there, raising his own issues.”

“He’s too young. He must be protected,” Cersei said, stuck on the previous point.

“He is absolutely safe.” Jaime realized too late that he shouldn’t have implied Tommen was acting with any degree of risk.

“Has there been any word from Dorne?” Cersei asked.

To Jaime’s mind, the question came out of nowhere. “No, I don’t believe so. They are keeping to themselves. The scouts in the Dornish marches report no gatherings of soldiers.”

Rather than ease her mind, however, this seemed to make Cersei more apprehensive. “The Dornish are often known to hire assassins. Jaime, I believe it is time for us to plan our return to King’s Landing. Tommen has been without his full complement of Kingsguard for too long.”

 

Two moons after the Ironborn ships had retreated from sight, an unexpected visitor arrived at Casterly Rock. Introducing herself as Queen Yara Greyjoy, she asked to speak with the head bitch in charge. The steward’s uncomfortable stance showed he didn’t know how to process that request. Lady Sansa was the Lady of the Rock, but she wasn’t… and Queen Cersei had the highest rank… but then there was the scary one…

“The tall one,” Yara clarified.

“Yes, my Lady, right away,” he said in relief.

The steward led her into a cozy study where Brienne and Tara were watching the babies roll around on a soft blanket in front of the fireplace. Brienne was meant to be reviewing provisions for the Lannister army for Tyrion and Tara had clothing to mend, but both tasks stood neglected as Merry and Wilber captivated their mothers with their cute antics. Merry’s hair, a lighter gold than her father’s, curled in waves along the back of her head. Her mother’s shade of vivid blue eyes surveyed her surroundings as she labored to push herself into a sitting position. Wilber had recently learned to crawl and showed evident joy in being able to move himself about. Merry almost had it, but tended to push herself backwards instead of forwards, leading to a scowl of frustration showing on her usually agreeable countenance.

Wilber shifted to crawl toward the visitor, whose cocky stride and unusual manner of dress drew his attention. Brienne followed his gaze and stood in surprise at seeing her friend.

“Which one’s yours?” Yara asked, then continued before Brienne had time to do more than open her mouth. “I’ve never seen a bigger baby. I’m surprised you can still walk.”

“She’s of perfectly ordinary size,” Brienne said, with little of her usual regard for the truth. “She was born quite a bit smaller, of course.”

“Still pretty huge then, m’lady,” Tara said, earning a mock sharp look. “I’ll let you visit while I prepare some mush for their lunch.” Both children had recently begun to supplement their liquid diets with small portions of solid food. Tara bustled off toward the kitchen, glad to have found a way to make herself useful.

“I like her. Who was that?” Yara asked, holding her hands off her chest to indicate large breasts.

“She’s my wet nurse, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late. Your wet nurse, eh?”

“Merry’s wet nurse. And she’s a married woman!”

“Mind your business and I’ll mind mine. How’s your special queen friend doing, by the way, married woman?”

‘That’s different! Cersei is growing stronger. She’s still suffering but feels like she can face King’s Landing again. We’ll be leaving within the week.”

“Oh. Hope you don’t mind a bit of a side trip first. Your queen is needed up north.”

“Why would you want Cersei to travel north?”

A smile spread across Yara’s sharp features. “For my coronation. We agreed a royal representative would come to show there are no hard feelings between us and the Crown about the independence. You and the hubby are invited too, of course. I know you don't go anywhere without him. Bring the whole family; it's safe.”

“It’s over, then?”

“All but. Euron fled up the north coast all by his lonesome. He’s still got the _Silence_ and its crew but we recaptured the rest. Every house on the Iron Islands will declare fealty for me, and we’ll have an end to our little family fight. Those are always the worst, aren’t they?”

“To be sure. Do your people understand the terms of the treaty they’re going to have to follow?”

“Yeah, as do I,” she said, carefully not touching Brienne. “Specifically, to quote the treaty because I looked it up, ‘the strict hands-off policy with regard to the island of Tarth, its nobility, and anyone who has ever been heir to the title of Evenstar.’ Do you reckon that means I can’t hold the baby?”

“I give you special dispensation. Also, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Good God, woman, you can’t give me that kind of loophole to work with! I am not good at resisting temptation.”

“You’d better be a quick study, then. The Crown will help you with supplies for the winter, but cannot abide raiding.”

“What if it’s right in front of me?”

Brienne leaned over and slowly brought her lips closer and closer to Yara.

“When did you get so cruel?” Yara stared her into her eyes for a good five seconds before stepping away. “Look at that. Treaty intact. Now where’d that wet nurse get to?”

Brienne had attended King Tommen’s coronation, but she still suspected Queen Yara’s would be like nothing she’d ever seen before.

 


	51. Pyke

As the island of Pyke came into view, so too did the evidence of Euron Greyjoy’s last stand. The masts of longships with tattered sails bearing Euron’s red eye only slightly outnumbered those bearing Yara’s kraken. Still, Yara had been the one left standing when Euron fled north. Her Ironborn gave chase but abandoned it as folly once Euron crossed into the Bay of Ice past Bear Island. That area was treacherous during winter, with winds gusting from the north able to freeze the sea behind a ship, leaving it locked in the ice. Euron may have been desperate enough to venture into there, but no one was willing to follow. If he somehow managed to recruit an army of wildlings to build ships and sail for the Iron Islands, they would face that challenge when it presented itself.

Pyke is the most well known of the Iron Islands, featuring the best port and largest city. The Ironborn claim dominion over a half dozen other large islands of note and dozens of smaller ones. None of the islands have much in the way of natural resources other than iron ore. Their soil is poor for farming and only lightly forested. They have a cold, grey, and unforgiving appearance, with their people being shaped by the land.

The culture of the Iron Islands has always differed from the mainland. Instead of the Seven or the Old Gods, the Ironborn worship the Drowned God, a sea deity who compels his followers to seek glory in his name by conquest and pillage. Yara’s task as queen would be a difficult one. She had sworn to transition these people, for whom raiding was at once religion and necessity, away from their ancestral traditions. Everyone was willing to celebrate an end to their civil war at the moment, but it was an open question whether they could hold to their resolutions during the winter as resources drew scarce.

The castle of Pyke could lay claim to a unique structure owing to its antiquity. No reliable records existed telling the tale of its construction or the family who first ruled from it. The Greyjoys presently possess it, as they have since before Aegon’s conquest. Once, it had a more conventional structure with towers and keeps enclosed by a curtain wall all built on a cliff overlooking the sea. Time and the relentlessly pounding waves had undermined the ground, causing parts of the castle to collapse and much of the cliff to fall into the sea. Now, the castle of Pyke is in pieces, scattered across several small islets. The largest section, the Great Keep, is located on the island of Pyke. A series of rope bridges connect it to the remaining towers. Yara’s father, Balon, had been pushed from one of these bridges, laying the grounds for Euron’s claim to the throne.

Yara invited her newly arrived guests to visit her in her solar. Brienne was quite sure she was purposefully trying to test their courage. Reaching the solar entailed crossing three increasingly rickety bridges to arrive at the Sea Tower in the oldest part of the castle. She and Jaime wore their traveling tunics rather than Kingsguard armor. Another ruler might take offense at such a lack of formality, but surely Yara would understand that they were concerned about adding so much weight to the bridges. Cersei proved fearless as she made her way across, always the lioness when on duty.

On reaching the solar, the queens greeted one another with kisses while the knights dipped their heads in a bow. The solar’s view was breathtaking, with large windows showing so much of the horizon that the visitors felt they were floating above the ocean.

“I hope you enjoy the accommodations, Queen Cersei. I had them put your suite near theirs, so your knights could come running if you needed anything,” Yara said with a smirk.

“That is much appreciated,” Cersei said, showing no hint of understanding any subtext.

“Oh, and I put Tara’s room just down the hall so you wouldn’t be far from the baby,” Yara said in Brienne’s direction. Brienne nodded her thanks, refusing to take the bait and ask how Yara had learned her wetnurse’s name.

“I didn’t expect I’d ever travel to Pyke. Thank you for the invitation,” Cersei said.

“We’ve got a few things King’s Landing doesn’t – fresh air, five-spiced eel, and liquor that’s 120 proof.”

“Oh, really?” Cersei blurted despite herself.

“Aye, just be sure one of them is around to carry you off when it knocks you on your pretty ass. In fact, I’ll send a case home with you.” Yara congratulated herself on her self-control in not asking Cersei for a rematch of their drinking game. She was getting a handle on this diplomacy business. Of course, Brienne looking like her eyes were about to pop out of her head had helped Yara stick to shallow waters.

 

After breakfast the next morning, Yara asked Brienne to walk with her along the shore. She needed to find pieces of driftwood to weave into a crown. Legend had it that the founder of the Iron Islands, the Grey King who ruled during the Age of Heroes, wore such a crown to show that his kingship came from the sea and demonstrate his submission to the Drowned God. On his death, his crown was broken up and given back to the sea, so that his successor would have to forge the pact anew. Yara intended to revive the tradition in hopes that her sovereignty would be blessed, unlike her father who had disregarded it.

Yara dashed back and forth along the shoreline, gathering likely looking branches for her crown. Brienne walked beside her, adjusting her stride to match the soon-to-be queen’s. She assumed that there were matters Yara would like to discuss and hoped that they involved official rather than personal business. Yara kept unusually silent, however, and Brienne didn’t think it only seemed that way because she was used to Jaime’s constant patter.

“Did you want to talk about something, Your Grace? I’m afraid I don’t seem to be very helpful at finding materials.”

“Oh God! Don’t call me that; you’re making me all tingly. Is that what you call her?”

“Sometimes.”

“In bed?”

“Um… my queen.”

“By His axe! Yeah, that would do it. Good to know that a queen gets to put her Queensguard to that kind of use.”

“You’ll end up with about thirty sworn swords, then,” Brienne gently teased.

“Don’t forget the shields, another thirty of those.” Yara playfully cuffed Brienne, finally feeling confident enough to touch her with the crown won and the ceremonials so close.

“Sounds like you’ll be very safe and very happy. Remember to save some energy for your responsibilities, though.”

“About that, since we’re allies and all, I have some information to pass along. Take it with a bit of salt; you know how sailors talk. I’ve heard though, that there’s been an awful lot of trading ships spotted between Dorne and Essos lately. Like, way too many. As in, no chance it’s just cargo in those ships. It’s gotta be Daenerys’ troops. The Unsullied, the Dothraki, all the Dothraki horses, the former slaves who joined her. I don’t know how long it’ll take to bring them all over. The merchant vessels will be slower than my longships, but after Volantis she’ll have lots of them.”

“The Crown thinks she has an alliance with Dorne. So, they would want to consolidate forces and march north, either up the Boneway or the Prince’s Pass,” Brienne said.

“I’d take the Prince’s Pass, to cut you off from the Reach. It’d split your armies and interrupt your supply lines. King’s Landing would begin to starve. You’d have food riots and mob violence. The smallfolk may even decide to fix the instability themselves by overthrowing the king, only making matters worse, of course. Yeah, it’s not a bad plan.”

Brienne was pretty sure she’d just heard the confession of Daenerys’ strategy from one of its architects. “Is there anything you think might worry her?”

Yara looked reluctant to say out loud what she knew to be true. She forged ahead, however. “Daenerys is more concerned about the castles than the armies. She knows her forces are strong. She’s got good numbers, and each of them is better than a one for one match-up with Westerosi forces. You saw the Unsullied. They fight like nothing human. The Dothraki will use tactics on your mounted knights that they’ve never seen before. Any field battle will be a slaughter. Castles present a problem, though. She can melt them with dragonfire, but then there’s nothing left. In her heart, she wants to be the legitimate ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and she can’t do that if she’s burned them to ash.”

“You think it’s best not to engage?”

“You’ll have to sometimes, but I do think it’s relatively safe to pack the major castles with soldiers armed with bows and crossbows. Pick off as many as you can from range. She will eventually resort to attacking from the sky, but it won’t be her first choice. You should probably send the Lannister army east for reinforcements. Daenerys will want to head to King’s Landing and Dragonstone for symbolic reasons, then conquer her way west and north from there.”

Yara was asking for some trust in pulling the Lannister army from the west coast. The Ironborn were notorious for their past raids on the Westerlands and the Riverlands. She wanted Brienne to believe that they wouldn’t return to these tendencies as soon as the armies were out of reach and otherwise engaged. Cersei and Jaime would not be inclined to trust her; Lannisters and Greyjoys had fought on and off for generations. Yara’s soft brown eyes pleaded for a chance to prove that her Ironborn had indeed turned over a new leaf. (Or, as she would probably put it, launched a new ship).

Brienne nodded. _Please don’t let me be a naïve fool here._ “With winter coming, I had an idea about how to keep your people independent. You have a few master metal smiths, but with the ore that the Iron Islands produce, you could employ more, as well as their journeymen and apprentices. I think arms and armor would sell particularly well with the rumors of war coming. It would raise plenty of money to keep the Islands fed during the hard times.”

“You think the Crown will be happy seeing us armed to the teeth?”

“I think it will be acceptable, so long as you give them no reason not to trust you. It’s a path towards true independence without reverting to old habits that will violate any treaties.”

“I’m starting to not like treaties,” Yara said, leaning her body briefly into Brienne’s. “It’s a fine idea though. I’ll study on it.”

_She’s willful, still on the reckless side, and would absolutely seduce me if she thought she could get away with it, but she means to hold to her word. She’s has me convinced anyway. Gods, please let me have learned enough about diplomacy to be right._ Brienne took Yara’s hand and pulled her closer. She made a show of looking through the driftwood she’d collected. “That’s surely enough to cover your little head. Shall we start back?”

“Yeah, I think we’ve got it sorted.”

 

Yara’s coronation would be held in the Great Hall of castle Pyke rather than among the bones of the vanquished sea drake at Nagga’s Hill. The later location had been the place of the kingmoot that chose Euron, and Yara wanted to give herself some distance from those memories. She needed to reconcile her people, not bring them back to the site of their most contentious recent political dispute.

Not all welcomed this split with tradition, so Yara had barrels of ale brought out to line the Great Hall hours before the ceremony was due to begin. Even though they were a difficult and fractious lot, the love Yara felt for her people shone clearly on her face. Jaime’s father had taught him that his role as lord involved a solemn duty to further the best interests of his people. Tywin always held himself separate from the smallfolk, however, treating them as a fungible mass that grew or shrank with the fortune of the Westerlands. He would never have held an gala at Casterly Rock open to all, much less circulated among the commoners exchanging highly inappropriate dirty stories.

By the time the crowning itself approached, the Ironborn were well lubricated and seemed to have forgotten all their differences and many of their manners. Jaime knew Brienne could handle herself but still felt reluctant to leave her side. Some of these men had been aboard the _Black Wind_ when Brienne was prisoner there and would have taken her against her will had they found the chance. It was a hard thing to call bygones on even in the festive atmosphere.

Brienne nudged Jaime. “You should start the gift presentation before they put away too much more drink and pass out before the ceremony begins.”

Jaime approached Yara’s Seastone throne and bowed. He handed up two packages wrapped in rough silk. “Queen Yara, allow me to present a gift from my wife and myself, as well as one from my brother Tyrion and his wife who send their regrets about missing the coronation.” Tyrion and Sansa had gone ahead to King’s Landing to help quell Cersei’s nervousness about Tommen being without his family. Sansa’s maid Mercy had gone along as well. Jaime was still unsure the girl was prepared for the rigors of service in King’s Landing, but he supposed Sansa had desired a familiar face after all she’d been through.

Yara opened her presents, revealing first a sapphire brooch set in gold, and then a cloak of soft kashmir wool with her kraken hand-embroidered in cloth of gold. “The brooch is to remind you of the Sapphire Isle and the Westerlands united,” Jaime smiled. “I do hope you can accept an ornament without needing to kill someone if it’s a gift.”

“Yes, thank you,” Yara said, plainly flustered. She’d known there would be gifts, she just hadn’t anticipated that they would be so personal. Her Ironborn houses hewed more closely to expectations, bringing forth drinking horns, exotic bits of plunder, and seven different finely-crafted axes. Someone dared present her with a greenland-style dress, but hadn’t the courage to attach his name to it. Finally, Cersei had Jaime carry up the Crown’s gift: a crate of ravens trained to fly between Pyke and King’s Landing.

“King Tommen and I hope these messengers will strengthen our alliance and show that we wish to remain on good terms,” Cersei said. Yara accepted the birds graciously. Both queens suspected they would have cause to do a fair amount of flying in the near future.

Yara’s uncle Aeron performed the actual crowning. Dressed simply in the grey and green robes that showed his devotion to the Drowned God and without so much as bothering to comb the seaweed from his beard, he said a few words asking for the blessing of the deity. He then sat the newly woven driftwood crown on Yara’s head and poured sea water over it to trickle down her face. The dignity of the moment was such that no one laughed at the new queen suddenly looking like a drowned rat.

Yara stood to address her people. “Thank you all for coming, my lords, my captains, my people, my greenland guests. We have just concluded the bloodiest Ironborn against Ironborn conflict since the prophet Galon Whitestaff decreed that Ironborn shall not make war on Ironborn. My uncle, faithless dog that he is, violated this tradition and forced us to fight amongst ourselves. That is not who we are. It’s not who we should be. We must be one people, unified in one way of life. We’ve earned our independence, and I mean to set us up to keep it. Not by conquering territory we can’t hold or making enemies of people just trying to get by, but through unity.

“There’s none stronger than Ironborn when we work together. That was Euron’s big mistake. He sought to rule the Ironborn. You can’t rule Ironborn. You can’t make demands. We are all masters of our own destiny, and we know it. We don’t take kindly to demands. I ask, though, I ask that you put your faith in me to chart our course. I will see us through this winter without a one of us going hungry, and when the spring comes, we’ll know a whole new way of life. That’s why today, I’m changing the motto of House Greyjoy. No longer does our greatest pride come from not sewing the fields. From this day forward, let House Greyjoy declare our ‘Strength through unity.’ Now go drink until that works for you.”

_Up until that last bit, she sounded like an actual ruler_ , Jaime thought. It would be a blessing for all the realms if the Ironborn queen could build up her own people without succumbing to the dangerous temptations of avarice, impulsivity, and vainglory that had plagued Ironborn kings of the past.

 

Yara stumbled next to Theon. She probably should have walked away from that challenge to drink a shot of strongwine to each House on the islands. But it had been a challenge. Anyway, she felt a renewed desire to yell at Theon about not enjoying her party enough. She’d taken an interest in dishing out criticism to him as only an older sibling can. He needed to feel tested sometimes, to ensure he would fight back. Reek must stay dead and buried.

“Why haven’t you slipped away from the festivities yet, little brother? I can’t leave, so you have all the serving wenches to yourself.”

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do with them? Talk about the weather?”

“Same thing I would. I don’t have a cock, and all my girls leave satisfied.”

“Yeah, but-”

“You wonder how to make it good for you? I don’t know, brother, but look at it this way, you get to experiment. Let her have a go at your arse. Just because something wasn’t your first choice before don’t mean you won’t like it.”

“Thanks, Sis, but there’s only one thing that will make me feel like a man again, and it’s not fucking.”

“Being a man is overpraised, and you’ll have your chance soon. In the meantime, your queen has given you an order: enjoy yourself. This may be your last party for a while.”

 


	52. King's Landing XXIII - Retribution

The road-weary group who had accompanied Queen Cersei to Pyke arrived back in King’s Landing after two weeks of uncomfortable winter travel. Even without much snow this far south, it was a terrible time to conduct a war. The skies would be constantly overcast with a fine cool, mist that hung in the air blanketing everything. The soldiers could expect no lighthearted tourneys to be held in between battles this time. The men would want to stay huddled in their tents or around campfires. They would be poorly fed and their spirits worn from concern about their distant families. Still, if Yara’s information was correct, war would sweep their way sooner rather than later. The foreknowledge was valuable, if unwelcome. 

On entering her chambers, Brienne found she had a message waiting from Pyke.

> To Lady Brienne of the Kingsguard:  
>    
>  Now don’t get mad. I sent Theon off on a mission to drive the Boltons out of Winterfell. It’s personal for Theon with Ramsay Bolton. Reason I didn’t mention any plans about this to you is because he had to join forces with Stannis’ army that was at Deepwood Motte. Everybody knows you’d like to stick your sword through that prick’s guts. Anyway, Theon sent a raven that the strike was successful and the Boltons have retreated back to the Dreadfort. Theon and Stannis are following along, just so you know. Some of our men are going to hold Winterfell, but you can tell Her Grace that we’re not laying claim. Theon’s not making that mistake again. They’re just sheltering there for the winter. Will advise further if I hear anything more about Stannis. Loved having you visit. Come again in the spring. Bring the husband if you insist.  
>    
>  Yara Greyjoy  
>  First of Her Name,  
>  Queen of the Iron Islands,  
>  Lady Reaper of Pyke,  
>  Commander of the Iron Fleet,  
>  Captain of the Black Wind

Jaime scrambled to Brienne’s side. From the level of scowl on her face, that letter was unwelcome news indeed. “What is it? Don’t tell me the Ironborn are betraying us already.” Though he wouldn’t be half surprised.

“Queen Yara joined with Stannis to attack the Boltons. So it’s not a betrayal exactly. Or if it is, it’s of Stannis since she told me where he’s moved his camp.” Brienne scowled even more deeply. “She could have let me come along. I wouldn’t have killed him until the job was done.”

Jaime kissed the side of her mouth. “If you say so. It’s better you’re here. Tommen got a haircut while we were away, and Cersei is angry anyone was let around him with a razor. She’s never really satisfied that he’s safe unless one of us is with him.”

“Let’s see to the guard schedule, then. And pray we have no further assassins in our midst.”

 

Lord Baelish closed the door to Robin Arryn’s room behind him as he left. A chambermaid stood in the hallway, eyes cast at her feet as she humbly waited to enter.

“You can come back tomorrow. Young Lord Arryn decided to retire early this evening,” Baelish said.

“Yes, my lord. Was it tonight that you finally gave him the lethal dose? I’ve been wondering how much longer you’d let it go on. Him slurring and messing himself. It’s getting too hard to rule the Vale through him. Best to just destabilize the system and see what advantage you can take, right?”

Baelish’s head snapped around to get a better look at the maid. He chastised himself. He of all people should have known better than to overlook a slight-bodied person in an invisible role.

“Who are you, girl?” Baelish asked. He didn’t need to wait for her to reply as she looked up at him, and he saw Ned Stark’s cold, grey eyes. “Arya Stark. You’ve been missing for quite a while, my lady.”

“Not missing, just not easily found. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Tell me, was my sister or Robin Arryn the prime target in your poisoning of the harvest feast?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you could mean.” The hallway seemed deserted, but Baelish was now taking nothing from granted.

“You poisoned the chicken at the winter harvest feast with tansy. You knew the Dornish would be blamed for any poison, especially after the death of Loras and kidnapping of Queen Margaery. It was a clever ruse. However, the Dornish don’t have any reason to hurt any of the victims, not Princess Myrcella, Lady Brienne, Lord Arryn, or my sister. You, on the other hand, do.”

“You seem to think me envious of Lord Arryn’s position. I assure you, that is not the case. I am only trying to guide the boy. He’s the one, precious child of my late wife. He has needed more help since the accident, yes, but if you or Lady Sansa think I am out of line, I will step back. You are his blood relatives, after all, and are due a say in his care.”

Arya had learned a great deal from the House of Black and White about mastering her emotions and remaining committed to a role. She could not keep her lips from pulling back from her teeth in disgust, however, on catching a glimpse of the monster behind Littlefinger’s officious mask.

“So it was Sansa, then. In your mind, this was some twisted act of love. You’d rather have her dead than married to someone else.” The dagger strapped to Arya's leg burned to be in her hand.

“That’s preposterous. Sansa is a lovely woman and the daughter of a dear childhood friend. Her marriage into House Lannister protects her from your family’s traitorous reputation. For that, I’m grateful.”

Arya ground her teeth, enduring his barbed insults. “You do think you love her. Oh, Sansa would never believe it. She’d think it was just an older man helping the ‘daughter of a dear childhood friend,’ but I can see the truth. Were you trying to kill her because you figured out she'll never love you back or only the child in her womb because it tied her to another man?”

“I’ve listened to this insanity long enough.”

Baelish made to walk away, but the flinch at his chin and quick swallow after Arya’s last words had given up his intentions. Arya spun the dagger into her hand and blocked his path.

“Recognize this? You gave it to the assassin who tried to kill Bran. You told Mother it was Tyrion’s. Tyrion said it was yours. I’ve had a chance to live around both of you now. Tyrion lies about how much wine he’s had before dinner and whether Sansa looks good in crimson. You lie about what’s on a paper you put in front of Robin to sign and how much sleeping syrup is safe to take. So I think I know who to believe now.”

The hall’s torchlight illuminated the dagger’s perilously sharp edge. Complicated patterns swirled in the length of Valyrian steel as Arya drew closer. Baelish had no idea whether the girl had any training, but even in the hands of a novice such a weapon could do serious damage.

“What do you want?” he asked, dropping all pretense. In his experience, he held a much better track record dueling with words rather than swords.

“Let’s go into Lord Arryn’s room. I want you to write out a confession that you tried to poison the royal family on instructions from the Dragon Queen. Your last lie can at least be useful in uniting the city for war. Then, you may take a horse from the stables and ride away in whatever direction you think there’s someone who might have you. Never return or I’ll know.”

Baelish did as she demanded, writing a confession equal parts remorse for the innocent victims – Sansa, Robin, and Brienne – and regret that he failed to vanquish his true target, Tommen. It was a nice work of fiction, he thought. Perhaps he could reinvent himself as a playwright for a group of mummers.

Arya read it over, nodding acceptance of his efforts. She tucked the letter away in her shirt. Her left hand struck out swift as a snake and Littlefinger’s old dagger carved open his throat. He gagged as his own blood ran down into his lungs.

“Sorry,” Arya said, “but you forgot to ask what I lie about. Mercy.”

She turned to the motionless form of Robin Arryn. “What a pity, cousin. I promise it won’t be in vain.”

 

The next morning, Lord Baelish’s body was found at the base of the tower in which he was staying as a guest at the Red Keep. Ser Marbrand, Commander of the City Watch, found the death suspicious. In his experience, a man rarely tears out his own throat before jumping to his death. However, once Baelish’s confession was delivered to Cersei in what was indisputably his handwriting and sealed by his seal, then the case was closed.

Jaime was scheduled to guard Tommen that morning. The king instructed that his uncle should train him in jousting. Cersei could scarcely have been less pleased, even when Jaime promised they would only be riding against quintains. Brienne took the liberty to spar with Pod, a task that the master at arms had obviously neglected in her absence given how quickly she had him in the dust.

After a series of disappointing fights, she paired him up with another squire and offered instruction to them both. He did much better against someone his own size and demonstrated that he had learned a considerable amount in the past year. _He’s still a boy yet,_ she thought. _With some more growth and further training, he’ll make a fine knight._

A younger boy watched the squires. No, not younger, Brienne realized, just smaller: Lord Robin Arryn.

“Lord Arryn, would you like a bout with Podrick?” Brienne offered out of politeness. He sometimes watched but never participated.

“No, my lady. I want to train with you,” Robin said.

Brienne gaped for a moment in shock. She bordered on twice the boy’s height and triple his weight. And he was so frail! The last she’d seen of him before traveling to Casterly Rock, he could barely walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” he said, blinking innocently.

Well, Brienne supposed it could do no harm to show him a few of the most basic moves. In any event, she would take care not to hit him; the other boys may not do him such a favor.

“All right. Take up a sword.”

Instead of picking up one of the practice swords, however, he drew a small, thin blade from his belt. It appeared sharp, though Brienne was not concerned. She wore almost full plate armor except for helm and greaves. Such a small blade could do no damage.

Brienne took a firm, two-handed grip on her training sword. Robin held his tiny sword in his left hand. Brienne wondered if she should correct him. Some fighters did predominately use their left hand, but well… on the other hand, so to speak, he may merely be too inexperienced to know better. She came at him with a slow, overhead strike to see if he had the sense to dodge out of the way. He pulled his body back quickly and then brought his sword out for a swift blow against hers. She smiled at the effort, except that the sudden hit had the effect of a riposte, bouncing his sword up to point at her neck. A strange result.

They reset their positions. This time, Brienne decided to try a over-arm side strike to disarm him. As if sensing her intention, he pulled his blade behind his back and ducked two swings as he wormed his way closer. To drive him back, Brienne attacked with a stabbing lunge that spun him around. He kept spinning and came back with a counterattack. Brienne thought she could ably parry it, but he must have adjusted at the last second because she felt a stinging pain at her wrist. That hadn’t been luck; it’d been a well-aimed blow executed precisely.

This time, Brienne was determined to give him a proper spar. They faced off, and she again opened with a forceful attack. Robin parried it, his sword just strong enough to knock her blows off target. He could unleash a flurry of attacks in the time she needed to draw back her greatsword, however its larger mass made them fairly easy to parry. Their duel went back and forth in momentum several times. When Brienne was on offense, Robin ducked and weaved past blows that missed by inches and left furrows on the ground. When Robin attacked, Brienne used her sword basically as a shield and put ground between them with her long stride. She caught a glimpse of Podrick who plainly hoped he was having a nightmare, seeing Robin Arryn give her more of a challenge than he had.

At the end of a string of Robin’s attacks, he knocked Brienne into a one-handed grip on her sword. In surprise she forgot her earlier resolutions and kicked out, catching Robin full in the chest. He flew backward several feet and lay stunned staring up at the sky. Brienne had time to worry that she’d done lasting damage to the boy. _I knew about his fragile constitution! Am I going to spend my last days in a sky cell?_ Suddenly, he swiveled his hips like a cat twisting to land on its feet from high fall and pounced back into a fighting stance.

Brienne attacked again no longer softening her swings in the slightest. She drove Robin back until he was near the edge of the training grounds. He redoubled his attacks, causing her to give a few steps of ground. Rather than allowing him to press the advantage, Brienne came in with a disarming strike and successfully knocked his sword away. She prepared to congratulate him on a fine fight when he drew a dagger from a scabbard on his waist. She caught his hand as he tried to bring it in to attack, but he dexterously tossed it to his other hand. They ended in a draw, with Brienne’s sword ready to plunge into his neck and his Valyrian dagger prepared to slice open her belly.

“Well fought, Lord Arryn. Come find me if you ever wish to spar again.”

“I will. Thank you, Lady Brienne. I would like to rest now. Please tell the maesters I would like not to be disturbed.”

Brienne would never understand exactly what had happened on that day. She and Robin would never fight again. However, Podrick wouldn’t let Jaime get away with teasing her about it. He’d shake his head solemnly and say ‘you c-couldn’t have b-beaten him either. No one could.’

 

The first refugees to arrive were the mounted knights. Often severely wounded, they appeared at the gates of King’s Landing begging shelter in exchange for pledging their swords to the defense of the city. They could be accommodated without much trouble in various guards’ barracks and inns. When the foot soldiers started to trickle in, however, resources became stretched. Those with any skill at construction built themselves temporary structures while waiting for housing that simply wasn’t available. The makeshift shacks began to clog city squares and create fire hazards at the walls. King Tommen had to issue an edict calling for the quartering of soldiers in private homes. This unpopular but necessary measure only achieved acceptance when he also ordered a generous increase in rations for families hosting soldiers.

Podrick shuffled his way across the dining hall, exhausted. He was a squire to a member of the Kingsguard which gave him some status, but most of the knights still felt free to order him around. They asked only small tasks of him in the main. Still, when he had to fetch a dozen loaves of bread and three dozen cups of ale every time he went for a meal, it added up. He winced when he heard another “Hey!” directed his way. This time, however, it was followed by “Podrick Payne!”

He turned to see Dickon Tarly looking, if anything, taller and more handsome than before. His energy renewed, Podrick trotted over and embraced Dickon, hoping it looked to everyone else like two old friends but felt to Dickon like something more.

“Dickon! When d-did you arrive?”

“Just this morning. Ser Mooton and I were among the guards for the baggage train of the Tyrell army when it was attacked. There’s no fighting them, Pod. Their horsemen tore through the army's lines like a hurricane of blades. Nothing was left. Knights were chopped into pieces, horses dead or stolen; it was a massacre. Then, when we thought they’d moved on, the dragon came out of the sky.” Dickon nodded along with his own story as if he didn’t expect Pod to believe him. “It breathed fire on the baggage train, burning up most of our supplies. Ser Mooton was killed in the attack. A few of the surviving knights tried to keep everyone from panicking and running off by themselves. Finally the dragon seemed satisfied that it’d caused enough destruction and flew off. We fled up the Roseroad, afraid all the time that it’d come back to finish us off.”

“Dickon! I’m s-so s-sorry you had to go through that.” Pod crushed Dickon into another hug. Possibly he was being too demonstrative, but Dickon seemed to appreciate it.

“We heard that the invader’s first attacks hit Nightsong on the Dornish border. No one seems to have survived there. Then, they steadily pushed north, through Ashford and Longtable, and Bitterbridge, where they found us. They can’t be far from King’s Landing, Pod. Their riders are well ahead of their footsoldiers, and the dragon can come out of the sky anywhere. They could rip through this city like a wind. We’ve got to keep them out!”

Ever loyal, Podrick said, “The good news, Dickon, is that my lady and S-Ser Jaime have already s-seen the riders and the dragons close up. If anyone can d-defend King’s Landing, it’s them.” If not, they would all die. Sometimes life was clarifyingly simple. Emboldened, Podrick asked Dickon to stay with him until duty called. With a smile to rival Jaime Lannister's, Dickon accepted.

 


	53. King's Landing XXIV - Invasion

“No.” Against anyone else, it would have worked. Cersei put all her practiced queenly mien into the word. She was abrupt and dismissive. It certainly would have worked on Brienne. Despite her thick skin and tough demeanor, she was ever the obedient knight. Cersei’s twin, however, could see through the queen to the frightened woman underneath.

“Cersei, they need to know what’s coming. Brienne and I have seen Daenerys’ forces in action before. We’re the only ones who can advise the western armies on how to fight her.”

“One of you can go, then. I’m not going to lose- Tommen needs his best knights around him,” Cersei said.

According to the frantic messages they had received from castles passed by, Daenerys’ armies had traveled north from Dorne at a brisk pace. As Yara had predicted, they only challenged castles that lay directly in their path. Otherwise, they proceeded northeast, heading straight for King’s Landing. Daenerys did not even divert a few days’ ride to take Highgarden, a tasty plum with vast wealth said to rest within its vaults.

“If the Dragon Queen fights her way to the gates, one more Kingsguard isn’t going to make a difference,” Jaime said. “The place to turn the tide is in the field. The armies will need both of us, hells, they’ll need twenty of us, but two will have to do.”

“Queen Yara said we’ll want all of our men at the walls armed with crossbows,” Cersei reminded him.

“I will only take the mounted knights with us for reinforcements. All the city guard will stay here. I’ve authorized Marbrand to offer a silver stag to anyone with his own bow willing to stand a watch. Brienne and I will ride out and meet with the leaders from the Reach and the Westerlands. We will try to avoid engaging directly in battle.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. Can you vow to me that you will come back? That you’ll bring her back? That you will not leave Tommen unprotected? We can’t face this alone.”

“Cersei, I promise. You will see us again. We’ll have many fine meals together. We’ll drink a toast to the Dragon Queen’s bones. We’ll fuck you unconscious on a bed of furs. What do you want me to say?” Jaime wouldn’t pretend not to hear the call of battle. From what he’d seen of Brienne this morning, she too was eager to be on their way. She’d been regretful about leaving Merry, but not reluctant.

Cersei wanted him to say that personally tending to her safety was more important than the battle. That keeping their family together took precedence over going off to war. The war was coming to them though. She knew it; she was only succumbing to a moment of weakness in wishing someone else could handle it. She and Jaime would not be the children of Tywin Lannister, however, if they were content to hand over the reins to another and be moved like pieces on a cyvasse board. They controlled the destinies of lesser men, not the other way around.

Jaime wouldn’t be the man she loved if he wasn’t bold as a lion. She wouldn’t recognize Brienne if she ever shrank from a fight. “Go, both of you. Before I change my mind.”

 

The armies of the Reach and the Westerlands were encamped south of King’s Landing along the Roseroad. They had not been there long, and the modest reinforcements from the Crown warned them not to get comfortable. From the timings of the most recently received ravens, they had a day to make ready, possibly less. Jaime set the soldiers to work digging trenches and setting up stakes; anything to keep from having their foot soldiers overwhelmed by the Dothraki. Disciplined armies usually held their morale during charges, but they’d never heard the warcries or seen the wanton brutality of the fearsome Esson riders.

Brienne briefed the head of the Westerland forces, Ser Daven Lannister, while Jaime met with those from the Reach. It might have seemed an odd division of labor given their backgrounds, but Jaime found it an easy choice knowing Brienne’s history with Randall Tarly.

Lord Tarly, shrewd and arrogant as ever, brought Jaime over to where a large, covered shape rested on a cart. “We have a secret weapon, all the way from the Citadel,” he said. He loosened the leather wrapping and unveiled a small ballista. Jaime examined it critically. A siege weapon seemed of little use on the battlefield. The bolts were unusual, however, their tips seeming to shift color in the sun.

“Is that Valyrian steel?” Jaime asked.

“Yes, Ser Jaime. The grandmaesters claim it will be sharp and sturdy enough to puncture dragon hide. We only had material for three bolts. Who is your best shot?”

“Probably me,” Jaime said, running his hands over the device with new respect. If he could manage to kill a dragon, or even knock one out of the sky, this could prove a significant weapon indeed. Well done, those clever maesters.

“We’ll have a shield line set up to protect you while you’re firing it, with pikemen lined up behind. Should keep the riders off of you. The dragons are your problem.” Tarly gave him a sympathetic nod. He’d be firing a weapon he’d never used before against three targets with a total of three shots. Even scoring one direct hit would require close to divine intervention. It was also all but begging for his position to be strafed by dragonfire. Tarly suspected the Kingslayer would write the final chapter of his life during this battle.

 

Brienne and Ser Daven Lannister got along rather well, as Jaime had expected. Daven was a jovial man, only a bit younger than Jaime though much less handsome. He had the Lannister golden hair, but his eyes were a muddy hazel and his nose flat and large. His most obvious feature was his bushy, golden beard.

“I first grew it out mourning my father, who was lost against Euron Greyjoy,” he explained. “Turns out, I found a bit a fur on my face keeps me a touch warmer on these cold nights. I’d feel sorry for you, my lady, but I know you have my handsome cousin to snuggle up with.” He laughed at Brienne’s blush, good-naturedly adding, “There’s not a woman alive who doesn’t envy you. I’m amazed he married you, to be honest. He was never the cleverest of us lads. I didn’t think any woman could win out over his sword.”

“With me he gets both, I suppose. A wife and a sparring partner.” Brienne decided she liked this Lannister, more honest and plain spoken than the rest.

“Promise me you’ll never go easy on him. He always had a smart mouth, but none of us could put him in his place.”

“It’s a challenge for the ages,” she grinned.

“Has your squire seen combat?” Daven asked. Podrick hovered nearby, tightening his saddle and making unnecessary adjustments to his armor.

“Yes, in fact he’s fought beneath dragons before. He will acquit himself well today,” Brienne replied. True, when he’d fought in Volantis the dragons had been on his side, but Brienne had confidence in Podrick’s bravery and loyalty.

They were passing time, trying to distract themselves from their apprehensions before the Dothraki arrived. They had seen the dust cloud from their progress on the horizon earlier and could now hear their war-whoops. They waited, their vanguard ready to charge when the riders broke over the hills. Brienne had relayed all the strange and effective tactics she’d seen used to great effect in Volantis. For facing them in battle, however, they had only the hopes that the archers could whittle down the riders’ numbers with their first few volleys and the faith that they would have the skills to see the day through.

As the Dothraki came into view, the heavy lancers charged. Men from the Reach for the most part, they were the heaviest armored. Even their horses were clad in chain barding. Their goal was to push through the Dothraki lines without falling victim to the wild slashing attacks that the riders found so effective. A thick rain of arrows fell on the Dothraki, the archers having time to unleash three volleys before the lancers closed. Largely unarmored, many Dothraki and their horses were slain, raising a robust cheer from the back lines.

The heavy lancers smashed into the Dothraki, felling many more with their sturdy lances. More than half of the lancers managed to push all the way through and come around for another pass. Brienne allowed herself to feel some hope. She knew that the Dothraki tended to ride in long, spread out lines of no more than three ranks and so had advised this strategy. If they could eliminate Daenerys’ dangerous riders before her foot soldiers arrived, they had a good chance of keeping all but her dragons from King’s Landing.

Suddenly she heard more warcries, slightly different. Another khalasar of riders emerged from the dust. For these, Brienne imagined she could already hear the jingling of bells in their braids. _Of course, they’d put the greenest riders, the ones most eager to prove themselves, in the first wave to soak up our arrows and first strike,_ she thought. _Now the more seasoned warriors will advance to begin the real fight._

Brienne spurred her horse forward before she realized she was doing it. She cried, “For the king!” and the rest of the mounted knights followed.

She rode into the slaughter, swinging Oathkeeper with precision. Any Dothraki she hit went down, cleaved nearly in two. She had seen enough of their combat style to dodge the sharp arakhs and stay mindful of anyone trying to pull her from her horse. Most of the other knights weren’t so lucky. She’d instructed them to the best of her ability, but hearing about it and facing it were different matters. Her men had never encountered foes that could lean over in their saddles to cut the legs off their opponents horse, then nimbly jump off, kill the knight struggling to regain his feet, and remount their own steed, all practically in a moment’s time.

Fighting her way through the first wave of Dothraki, Brienne recognized the leader of the second, Khal Rakharo, riding full out toward the Crown’s back lines. He meant to chop through their helpless archers regardless of rank or honor. Dothraki took no prisoners of enemy fighters, and would consider it a humiliating insult to be captured and not slain.

Brienne called his name in challenge, gaining his attention. The two crashed together, the fully armored knight wielding a Valyrian steel sword against the powerfully built Dothraki armed with the Valyrian steel arakh given to him by Daenerys. They met stroke for stroke. Khal Rakharo was faster but Brienne’s armor could absorb more blows. Dragons flew overhead, setting fire to the front lines, but neither warrior paused in their attacks. They drew close enough to trade body blows in addition to weapon strikes. Brienne wasn’t sure who was the stronger, herself or the khal, but decided to test it. She clashed her sword against his arakh and pushed. He pulled back, trying to dislodge the sword from her grip. They hung suspended for a long moment, then his arakh began to slowly lower toward his chest. She kept up the force until finally Oathkeeper sliced into his neck. With one quick tug she had his throat open, and he fell from his horse.

Three other Dothraki had surrounded Brienne during the battle. Khal Rakharo’s bloodriders, she realized, sworn to live and die by his side. They had her outnumbered, but fortunately she still had them out armed and armored. She predicted one’s move; as he ducked down to cut the legs from her horse, she cleanly beheaded him. Showing that warhorses had a few moves of their own, she caused her destrier to rear up. Its forelegs kicked out, punching another bloodrider in the jaw. He sat stunned long enough for Brienne to use the momentum of her descent to slash open his chest.

The final rider launched himself at Brienne, attempting to pull her from her horse. She knew beyond a doubt that to lose her seat would mean death. She gripped with her thighs and twisted her off-hand into her horse’s mane. As the Dothraki slammed into her, he brought his arakh around and attempted to penetrate her armor. If he had found a joint only covered by chain mail, the arakh could have punched straight through, but she had a spot of good luck and it bounced off the plate. Brienne’s sword hand shot back, elbowing him off her. She leaned over to deliver the killing blow still from horseback.

Brienne raised her gaze to find herself surrounded once again. At least five Dothraki could reach her from where they sat, and dozens more were near enough to join the fight. Brienne felt her throat close up. _I’m sorry Merry,_ she thought, _I’m not going to make it home._

“Khal!” the one directly in front of her said, pointing his arakh at Brienne.

“Khal!” the crowd echoed. Someone passed her up a patch of fur that on closer examination proved to be Khal Rakharo’s braid, woven with dozens of bronze bells.

The man in front of her watched expectantly. “Khal!” he said again.

“Khal Brienne!” she stated as firmly as she could. This was met with war-whoops and spread along the lines, shortening to Breeno by the end.

Khal Brienne spun her mount around and lifted her bloody sword in the air. She gave a loud, incoherent cry as her khalasar rode forth to take their unsuspecting former comrades in the flank.

 

Hundreds of Jaime’s soldiers – some men he’d known his entire life – lay dead on the ground before him, charred meat with their armor melting onto their flesh. The shield line had held right up until the moment the dragonfire fell on them. Despite the terror of seeing the Dothraki riding for them, despite the supernatural dread of knowing the dragons flew overhead, they had held. May they find their reward in the heavens, they had not broken.

With the troops more scattered and mixed, the dragons flew lower, needing to actually aim their attacks. Jaime remembered from seeing them in Volantis: Rhaegal, the green one; Viserion, the white one; and Drogon, the black one and the queen’s favorite. He took up the controls of the small ballista. It swiveled fully 360 degrees around and could be pulled back to point nearly straight up. He could only hope its firing mechanism was as much a marvel of engineering, capable of throwing the bolts with enough force to reach a dragon.

Jaime scanned the sky for Drogon. If the queen was present, she would be on its back. He saw a shadowy shape circling the sky, surely too far to hit. If he had countless bolts, he’d consider wasting one to get its attention, but under these circumstances, he would have to be patient. He lost track of the dragon for a moment, and in fact, could find none of them. He slowly searched the horizon and located them assembling in a formation. They appeared to be planning to scourge the back lines in a simultaneous attack, giving his remaining foot soldiers nowhere to flee.

Jaime took careful aim as they moved closer. Drogon was slightly in front and central – perfect. He lined up his shot and let the bolt go. The ballista jumped backward with the force of the shot, and the bolt sailed cleanly between Drogon and Viserion. Jaime swore and commanded that they prepare to fire again. Dickon, who was serving as his squire, reloaded the device as quickly as possible. They cranked the second bolt back together. Jaime resumed his position, adjusting his aim.

Jaime had the bolt lined up precisely on Drogon’s chest. He checked the wind, mentally adjusted for distance and movement, and fired. The bolt sailed true, but at the last second the dragons banked. They all shifted position so that Drogon escaped danger. Instead, the bolt punched cleanly through Viserion’s wing. The white dragon shrieked and staggered out of formation. The damage to its wing was not enough to cause it to plummet to the ground, but did enrage it. Viserion’s sharp eyes locked in on its new target.

Jaime hopped down to load the last bolt. “Run, boy,” he told Dickon.

Dickon shook his head and took his place at the crank. Jaime muttered under his breath about foolhardy squires, knowing he’d been one, and they rapidly had the bolt ready to fire.

“Seriously, run this time. I’ll be right after you, and my legs are longer,” Jaime said taking aim. Dickon sprinted opposite to the direction Viserion was approaching. Jaime waited until the dragon’s mouth opened before letting the bolt loose.

It flew straight and true to punch into the dragon’s chest. Viserion beat its wings desperately, but the damage had been done. It choked back its fire and plunged down, landing in a heap on the battlefield. Its left rear leg kicked spasmodically reaving trenches in the earth. Viserion tried to shriek or possibly breathe fire, but its lungs were too badly damaged and its mind was dying. Jaime was not sure if he imagined or truly heard an answering cry from above.

Twin gouts of flame fell on his recently vacated position, melting the ballista to slag. Jaime pulled Dickon to the ground and they lay there, two apparently dead soldiers among many. The other dragons roared and raged for an inestimable time. Jaime peeked at the scene through half-lidded eyes. He watched as the body of Viserion gradually lifted from the earth. Risking a better look, Jaime saw Rhaegal and Drogon each with their claws gripping their clutch-mate’s shoulder flying off to the south.

“They’re retreating!” Dickon whispered in amazement.

“I wasn’t japing when I said she thinks of the dragons as her children. Now she’s lost one, so you can bet we’ve not seen the end of this. We need to fall back as well. We winnowed down their numbers, but she can still give us a fight, especially with two dragons remaining. We’ll need to make our next stand within crossbow range of the city.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The organization of Daenerys' Dothraki hordes is unsettled in the books. I'm going with a coalition of khalasars, all technically under her command. Tradition and tribal loyalties run stronger, however, and Brienne did just defeat their Khal in front of everyone.


	54. King's Landing XXV - The Battle for King's Landing

Jaime didn’t know what to make of seeing Brienne riding at the head of thousands of Dothraki as they approached the Crown encampment. Though her armor was smeared with blood, she appeared perfectly hale. She’d even removed her helm to air out her head and cool her brow. On arrival, she hopped from her mount, gave Pod a firm pat on the shoulder that was almost an embrace, and commenced giving orders.

“Let’s start preparing to move out. Get those dead horses butchered; as much as we can carry.” Horsemeat was the preferred food of the Dothraki, and she knew they were going to have trouble feeding thousands of extra troops. “I want a count of our dead and wounded, and find me anyone at all who speaks Dothraki.”

“Blood of m-my blood,” Pod replied, clutching his fist to his chest. She had named him bloodrider, along with two of the Dothraki with the most bells in their hair, Kono and Sulaego. Given the carnage they had wrought toward the conclusion of the battle, everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

Brienne scanned the encampment. She had kept the faith that Jaime was all right; she thought she’d feel it if he wasn’t. Still, her commanding scowl relaxed into a smile when she noticed him running towards her.

“What’s this, wench? Switching sides?” he quipped.

“The other way 'round. I proved myself the better leader, so they’ve joined our cause,” she said.

Jaime tried to keep a proud smile on his lips while his face paled around them. If what he remembered about Dothraki culture was correct, that meant she’d killed a khal and his bloodriders single-handedly. _Thank the gods the obstinate wench is too stubborn to die._

“How many do you command?” Jaime asked, taking in the riders who kept on coalescing around their position.

“About five thousand, near as I can figure.”

“Wench, that… that could be game changing.”

“I’d certainly rather fight with them than against them. We should start falling back. Daenerys has at least one more khalasar and all her foot soldiers remaining. And of course the dragons. We’ll want the protection of the city walls.”

“Only two dragons now,” Dickon said. He’d trailed after Jaime in the hopes of running into Brienne’s squire. “The Dragonslayer saw to that. He shot one right through the chest.”

Brienne turned amazed eyes onto Jaime. “Really? Which one? Did you kill it?” Privately, she beamed at the name Dragonslayer. _Please let that catch on among the men._

“Viserion. They retrieved the body, but I’m sure it was dead.”

“We’re both due a celebration then. Which is good; I’m expected to commemorate my victory under the stars tonight,” she told Jaime. Her new warriors had made that much clear with gestures and vulgar Valyrian. She also supposed she needed to take the time to braid a bell into her hair.

Pod ran back to Brienne. He had a parchment in his hand and was prepared to start reading from it when he noticed Dickon. His face twisted in uncertainty, eyes bouncing from Dickon to Brienne.

“Out with it, Pod. Is that the list of the dead?” she asked.

“Y-yes, my lady,” he said. He bowed clumsily to Dickon. “I’m s-so s-sorry, Lord Tarly.”

“Wha-“ Dickon said, the breath robbed from his lungs as realized Pod would not play him false.

“I’m s-sorry,” Pod said again. “He was a b-brilliant leader and he l-loved you very much.” Pod embraced Dickon and repeated, “Love you very much.”

Brienne scanned the list. Lord Randall Tarly was the most significant name among the deceased, but there were quite a few minor lords and landed knights. Their forces had been dealt a serious blow, especially their mounted knights. She felt more pressure to decamp for King’s Landing and relative safety.

“Lord Tarly captained the defenses of our back lines,” Jaime said. “They held nobly and gave their lives to protect the archers as well as myself. I owe him a great debt.” Much later, as they left the battlefield, they would find the Tarly ancestral sword Heartsbane near a pile of ash and melted armor. Randall Tarly, too, had held until the end.

 

“I want a ballista in every rampart that will hold one,” Jaime ordered his lieutenants. “I don’t care if the man behind it has never fired one in his life. I don’t even care if it will fire. I just want the walls to be bristling with them. Daenerys won’t bring her dragons close if she thinks there’s a chance of another one getting skewered.”

“She could still fly in high and swoop down,” Brienne said quietly to Jaime. “Have Drogon breathe on a few key buildings to soften up the resistance.”

“She could, but I don’t think she will because of what you forced me to confess in Meereen. She knows all about her father’s plot to make the city his funeral pyre and that much of the wildfire is exactly where he left it. I’m trusting your Ironborn friend is right and that Daenerys would rather not start her tenure as queen by taking her throne on a heap of skulls and ash.”

Their soldiers were all situated within the walls of King’s Landing now, except for Brienne’s Dothraki who preferred the fields outside. King Tommen and his advisers had sent ravens to every stronghold within range notifying them that the Crown would remember who sent aid during this time of great struggle and who did not. All the roads were open, with food and supplies still arriving from Highgarden. Even with the tragic loss of life, they knew that if the Dragon Queen had been undisputed in possession of the roads, King’s Landing would already be cut off and growing restless.

Brienne summoned anyone in the city who could speak Dothraki to her side. Thus, when addressing her khalasar she was accompanied by one or more of: an elderly sailor, a young scholar, and a whore. The Dothraki didn’t mind that the translations were occasionally imperfect (‘Halt here. Wait until they show their starboard side. Then cut off their privates if they don’t pay’). They liked their big, sun-haired khal who rode at the front of the lines screaming her lungs out. Some even passed around the idea that _she_ was the one destined to bear the stallion who would mount the world. It made more sense, really.

 

Waiting for Daenerys’ forces to arrive proved a mixed blessing. It gave the city guard more time to make ready, fletching untold thousands of arrows and hardening their defenses. More soldiers arrived: the reserves from Storm’s End, contributions from Rosby and Duskendale, even a few from Maidenpool. However, Jaime and Brienne knew the reason for the delay was Daenerys massing all her forces into an overwhelming attack. Her remaining Dothraki would be joined by the Unsullied and the Dornish, plus however many former slaves she’d brought along and armed.

Brienne, in particular, felt sadness about clashing with an army she’d been a part of before. Daenerys truly had some worthwhile ideas and a kind heart. Her instant abhorrence of slavery demonstrated as much. She unfortunately had been unable to escape her family’s megalomania and thirst for power. Now thousands of people must die because the great houses were divided about who should rule them. Brienne thought wistfully of the journey to Essos she and Jaime had made. Towards the beginning, she had met Shireen Baratheon hidden away with Davos Seaworth’s family in Braavos. Shireen seemed so happy, a young maid of two and ten with no messy entanglements in court politics. Brienne sometimes wished everyone could be so lucky.

Lookouts spotted the dust cloud from Daenerys’ Dothraki first, but Brienne did not send her riders forth to meet them. In fact, she stayed with her khalasar to ensure no one became overzealous and sprang the trap early. With days to prepare, Crown forces had laid many layers of trenches and spearwalls to block their charge. The archers should be able to get in volley after volley while safely protected by the city walls.

Most likely thinking along similar lines, Daenerys’ Dothraki slowed, then swerved in a widening arc. Having seen the city's preparations, she would have her riders instead try to blockade the roads. Brienne had a surprise waiting for them. She let loose her war cry, and her khalasar surged forth. They hit the flank of their opposing numbers like a smith’s hammer and burst straight through. The roads would stay open at any cost.

 

Jaime watched from the ramparts as Daenerys’ foot soldiers approached. As expected, first the Unsullied, then the Dornish, then the others. But dear gods, the others stretched on forever. Even if they all only had wooden spears, it must have taken a forest to equip them. Still, he reminded himself, the city had yet more arrows. If they breached the walls, he would worry. King’s Landing was better prepared for a siege than Daenerys’ unwieldy army. Even in midsummer, a group that size couldn’t have lived off the land. In winter, they would begin to starve in short order.

Though the city’s archers let loose a few volleys as the Unsullied approached, only a few lucky, long-range arrows found their marks. The Unsullied advanced until their expert use of shields could no longer prevent all damage. They then halted and set up their defensive barriers. Dauntless but not foolish, they formed a protective line. Unsullied were more commonly used as stalwart defenders rather than offensive shock troops, so Jaime had an idea of where Daenerys would form her battle lines.

For hours, the Dornish and former slaves arrived and assembled behind the Unsullied lines. The display was meant to be intimidating, but Jaime doubted that this was how she’d hoped events would transpire. Instead of an isolated city surrounded by Dothraki warriors whose war cries kept the populace terrified inside the walls, she faced open roads protected by some of those same riders. Jaime didn’t see any other options for her than attack or retreat, and if she retreated the Crown could harry her all the way back to Dorne.

Brienne’s khalasar returned from dismantling Daenerys’ and formed up near the road. If Jaime wasn’t mistaken, her group was larger now than before she left. Apparently once it had been cut down enough, Daenerys’ khalasar had joined with their brothers. Jaime did not fully comprehend the Dothraki version of loyalty, but he trusted Brienne’s leadership to keep them in line now that she'd won them over. It’d worked on him.

The black dragon made a long, spiraling journey high above the city. In case there were any doubts in the minds of the populace of King’s Landing, Daenerys wanted to make it clear: dragons had returned to the world, and Targaryens would return to the throne. She was careful, however, to stay out of range of the ballistae.

The dragon landed near the Unsullied lines with a thump that shook the earth. Jaime had thought he was used to the sight, but no, apparently one does not become inured to creatures of legend. Drogon’s talons, longer and sharper than any sword, flexed at the ends of its limbs. Its mouth, large enough to devour a sheep whole, snapped toward the enemy lines in anticipation. A small, white figure dismounted and was swiftly surrounded by her lieutenants. Jaime saw Barristan there and Varys’ distinctive bald head, as well as Lady Nymeria, Grey Worm and some of the the advisers she’d taken on in Volantis. He did not see Ser Jorah or Daario and wondered if they had been left behind in Essos to manage affairs in her absence. Jaime could only hope the assembled braintrust had no more creative solutions to offer than he himself could devise.

 

Trumpets sounded, harkening the opening of the sally port of the King’s Gate. Under a flag of parley, a band rode out: four Kingsguard surrounding – both Brienne and Jaime felt their mouths drop open – King Tommen himself. Brienne’s mind blanked, imaging no circumstance under which Cersei would allow Tommen to conduct such a mission. Jaime realized, _it was the dragon_. Cersei had a lot of influence, but when the king gave an order, it had to be obeyed. And what boy could resist a dragon? He certainly couldn’t have at Tommen’s age.

Daenerys’ soldiers made way for Tommen’s retinue. He dismounted skillfully and waved off his guard. Well schooled in etiquette, Tommen approached Daenerys respectfully, but not subserviently.

“Greetings, Lady Targaryen. I am pleased to see that the reports of your demise were in error.”

“You may address me as Your Grace,” Daenerys said. “If you do so, you may survive and live out your days in peace.”

“You are not the queen. The Targaryens ruled for many years, it is true, but Aerys was deposed by my father, King Robert, first of his name. You have no claim to the throne, unless you are somehow my elder brother come again.”

“You are a bastard born of incest. Robert Baratheon was a usurper, driven mad by envy. Aegon Targaryen established the Seven Kingdoms, and a Targaryen must rule over them.” Volantis had no shortage of priests and prophets, many of whom had approached Daenerys with this message. After a while, it had started to feel like the pull of fate rather than, as Daario said, them wanting to be rid of her.

“You will not take the city. Even if you breach the walls, our people will fight you in the streets. They do not seek a return to Targaryen rule. With winter upon us, they only seek warmth, food, and security. You would be a poor ruler indeed if you do not understand that. Or if you care only for your desires and not theirs.”

“The rightful heir to the throne can guide her people through any hardships. I have faced far worse than winter to arrive here, and so have those who follow me. We will not fail this near our victory. Fate will not allow it.”

“My aunt and uncle said you could be reasoned with, but I see they were mistaken. This is folly. I shall take my leave.” Tommen turned his back on the Dragon Queen and walked away. Her troops parted again to allow his egress.

King Tommen mounted his horse. Jaime could see that his training at arms was paying off. In his gleaming golden armor, and from a bit of a distance, he looked every inch a true king, confident and noble.

Brienne was looking elsewhere. Afterward, she could never be sure whether the idea had come from Daenerys or Drogon itself. She knew Daenerys could command Drogon mentally; she’d seen it before. However, dragons surely had minds of their own, and Tommen so strongly resembled Jaime, who had killed its sibling. Though she spurred her mount toward the scene, she knew she was too far away to do anything but scream a warning. Her khalasar followed behind, assuming she had decided to renew their attacks.

Podrick happened to be closer. Well trained to the sound of his lady’s voice, his head popped up and he saw what she had seen. He galloped toward King Tommen, alarming the Kingsguard who surrounded him. He tackled the king from his horse just as the dragonfire hit. They rolled over and over on the ground, Tommen’s red-hot armor doing more damage to Podrick than the dragonfire.

 

The chaos of battle descended again. Brienne realized there was no way to stop her khalasar from attacking, so she guided them away from the Unsullied and towards the thousands of poorly-trained slave troops. The Dothraki swept through them with such fervor that Brienne didn’t think she lost a man. She brought her khalasar around for another pass, allowing the curtain of red to blank her mind and dull her sympathies. These people took up arms against her king; they meant harm to her family. Her duty was clear.

Daenerys took to the air on Drogon, watching through shocked tears as the Dothraki tore through the people she’d brought across an ocean. They had called her Mhysa and trusted her with their lives, and now they were being massacred by others who had turned on her. The Dornish, her only Westerosi allies, had proven valuable on the journey north. They knew how to subdue castles with minimal loss of life. They did not know how to fight Dothraki, however. Why would they need to? Her former khalasar would soon sweep through the Dornish lines as well.

Daenerys faced a terrible choice. She felt the impulses warring inside her head. She could order a retreat and save as many as possible. However, the Dothraki could outpace them and would make sport of thinning their numbers. She’d lose hundreds more during the journey south. Then, what? Was she to abandon her destiny for a quiet life in Dorne? Would she even be welcome there? She’d promised them the throne, not to make herself and thousands of others permanent guests. No, there was only one choice.

Daenerys landed and ordered the Unsullied, the group Brienne seemed to respect most, to set up a ring to protect the survivors. Finally, Brienne’s khalasar peeled off. It was still almost at full strength, Daenerys noted. They’d killed thousands and taken essentially no losses. What was it King Tommen had called this? Folly? She chased the thought from her head. Her only route was through the walls, risking the ballistae to make a breach with dragonfire for her soldiers to pour through. She would lose more people and the city would be sacked, but it was the only path to the throne. She’d taken Volantis with a smaller force, after all.

Daenerys again mounted Drogon and flew to the head of her army. She gave the order to strike, and Drogon swooped forward. Two ballista bolts bounced off the dragon’s hide, reinforcing her confidence that she’d made the right decision. This was her destiny. Drogon’s fire hit the walls at the same time an arrow found her heart.

 


	55. King's Landing XXVI - Pyrric Victory

Daenerys gasped and tried to breathe around the arrow shaft through her chest, but her body wouldn’t obey. She attempted to tell Drogon to fly them back behind the lines, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Her legs relaxed, and she began to slip from Drogon’s back. She was losing control, her vision narrowing to a tiny pinpoint. She felt a breeze on her face as she was swept along a tunnel lined with visions and prophecies, few of which had come to pass. Then she was gone.

The goldcloaks and citizen defenders of King’s Landing watched in astonishment, bows slack in their hands, as the so-called Dragon Queen fell from the sky with an arrow in her chest. Though no one was close enough to see the fletching on the arrow, hundreds would later claim credit, especially in taverns, for decades to come.

Drogon’s initial blast of fire had made a breach in the city walls, and not seeing what transpired in the air, Daenerys’ soldiers started to pour through. The Unsullied pushed in as a wedge and gradually spread out to provide the less experienced Dornish and former slaves a pocket of protection. Their orders were to make their way to the Red Keep and take the royal family into custody. Any guards and defenders must be killed, of course, but servants, citizens, and the royal family themselves were to be spared if possible. Queen Daenerys did not want to begin her reign with the wanton bloodshed of her predecessor.

A herd of pounding hoofbeats met the invaders as the knights of the Vale charged forward, led by Robin Arryn. He had rallied the well-respected noble fighters and brought them south in the days leading up to the ultimate defense of King’s Landing. Brienne’s successes with the khalasar had allowed them to be kept inside the city and held in reserve.

The knights of the Vale smashed through the Unsullied wedge and chased down all the others who had entered the breach. Among themselves, they were amazed at the ferocity of Lord Robin. A year ago, none of them had wanted him for a squire, and now he was fighting on par with the boldest of knights. Finally, the Arryn blood was showing true.

 

Outside the walls, the arrows recommenced raining down on Daenerys’ troops. They were caught between trying to force their way into the city through a passage stacked with the bodies of their fellow soldiers and bristling with the steel of defenders or retreating to be mowed down by the Dothraki. Many of them broke, threw down their weapons, and tried to run away. Between the archers and the Dothraki, none made it.

Daenerys’ captains met, and Ser Barristan Selmy came forth to call for parley. He approached Jaime, dipping his head respectfully. Jaime returned the gesture with a bit less vigor. He knew Selmy had argued for him to be expelled from the Kingsguard after killing Aerys and started the witticism that his cloak should be dyed black instead of white. Having Selmy surrender to him was a sweet result, but he’d seen Tommen ride out, and he hadn’t ridden back in. Jaime feared the worst. He may have lost a second king (and a third child) under his tenure as Lord Commander.

“Lord Commander,” Selmy said, “we must call an end to this. I fear Queen Daenerys is dead. To continue the attack would be folly. We surrender. Let us retreat and put an end to the senseless deaths. We can meet afterward to discuss what reparations you will require. I am prepared to offer myself as hostage to stand surety for our honor.”

Jaime would almost prefer if the uptight old prick chose to end his career with a betrayal, but he knew it was unlikely to happen. An honest edition of Ser Barristan’s history in the White Book would show virtue down to the period after the date of his death. Brienne will probably make him write it that way, too. Selmy had only served Daenerys because Joffrey dismissed him from the Kingsguard, and he had seen that Jaime and Brienne were treated honorably in Meereen. Of the forces he led today, Jaime knew they could cut them down to a man. For Cersei’s sake, he wanted to. However, there were the dragons to consider. Without Daenerys to guide them, what would they do?

“Not necessary. Go get your men off the field and we’ll-”

Jaime and Selmy were interrupted by unholy screeching from the walls.

 

Drogon’s mother was dead, and he was alone. This place was cold and it stank. He was angry. And hungry. He screamed for his siblings to attend him. Together, they would wreak vengeance on those who hurt them. He could only sense Rhaegal, of course, because Viserion had also been taken by this cold, senseless land. Drogon screamed again.

The green dragon, Rhaegal, swooped down from the clouds screeching and cawing, also as if crying for her missing family. Drogon answered and began his revenge. The black dragon swept in low, spraying fire indiscriminately at first, punishing friend and foe alike in an effort to reach the responsible parties. Eventually understanding that the creatures behind the city walls were responsible, he called Rhaegal to follow, and they rose into the sky. Several ballista bolts chased them, but none managed to strike a weak or vital location.

The dragons landed again, well inside the city and away from the pests on the walls. They had full access to the vital areas of King's Landing now. Rhaegal started a panic by shooting gouts of flame down narrow streets and setting the wooden structures ablaze on both sides. People began to flee blindly. Rhaegal enjoyed chasing them down. She found that the ones not encased in steel were quite tasty. Drogon preferred to aim for the more impressive buildings. Once hollowed out by fire, they would make fine nests. This city belonged to him and Rhaegal now.

 

Brienne’s mount moved her swiftly across the field. The work of her khalasar done, she was at last able to attend to her king. Podrick had been with him since Daenerys’ terrible beast had breathed fire at his attempt at parley. Ever a good-hearted boy, King Tommen had tried to prevent the senseless slaughter of thousands. Two Kingsguard and their mounts had been incinerated, the others badly injured. Half of the skin on Podrick’s face had peeled off when he was pried apart from the king’s red-hot armor. He’d have a scar, not unlike another Kingsguard of years past.

No one wanted to see what the king’s body looked like underneath his armor. Maester Yorrick, summoned to treat the wounded, said that removing the armor would do more harm than good. He pulled Podrick away a few steps to make it clear: the king would surely die. Undressing him now would only cause him pain and allow the shock to set in sooner. They could give him water and milk of the poppy to make him comfortable, but no treatment could save him.

“Your Grace,” Brienne knelt, bringing her face close to Tommen’s. Despite what Podrick tried to tell her, she desperately wanted to find a way to help him. Perhaps if she could get him to Qyburn, he could work a miracle. He’d saved her when everyone agreed that she’d bled too much to live. She could see blisters all over Tommen’s face, though, and she could only imagine what lurked underneath his armor.

“Lady Brienne. Brienne, I believe I’m dying,” the king said.

“Nonsense, Your Grace.” She waved frantically for the maester. “I’ll get you something for the pain, then I’ll carry you inside. All will be well.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, sounding a little surprised. In fact, his nerves had baked within his flesh, and he was all but paralyzed. “I need to declare an heir.”

“I suppose that would be-” _Gods, technically it should be Stannis. That couldn’t happen. So Cersei?_

“Margaery,” Tommen gasped. “I name Queen Margaery my heir. Will you bear witness?”

“Of course, Your Grace, if that is your will. I vow to make it known.” Olenna Tyrell would get her way after all. Brienne hoped Cersei would accept it with grace. She would make sure to suggest that Cersei return to Casterly for a while to renew herself, even though Tommen would be buried in the vaults below the Sept of Baelor as befitted a king.

“Good.” Tommen’s eyes drifted closed. “One more thing,” he whispered. Brienne had to lean in close to hear.

“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll see to it right away.”

Brienne turned to her injured squire. “Podrick, kneel,” she commanded.

He did so, and she drew her sword. For a confused moment, Podrick feared he was about to be executed for failing to save the king.

Brienne lay Oathkeeper on his right shoulder. “Podrick, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king,” (Brienne quickly swallowed her grief,) “to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Brienne moved her sword to his left shoulder. “Then rise Ser Podrick of House Payne. The king personally thanks you for your service and wants you to know that you have his trust.”

Brienne embraced Pod, then knelt next to Tommen again. She hoped he had heard his last request being carried out, but at some point he had yielded up his spirit.

 

Jaime and Barristan Selmy stood in stunned silence as they bore witness to the dragons’ wrath. They watched fire spreading through the city as the dragons let loose their rage in jets of flame.

“And them?” Jaime demanded. “What are you going to do about them?”

Selmy had no idea. He had always feared the dragons and never wanted anything to do with them. Though dragons had disappeared from the world before he was a boy, he had been surrounded by Targaryens since he was a squire. They all spoke of the magical beasts with reverence and desire, sometimes obsession. It shamed him to admit it, but he had been pleased when Daenerys’ dragons were freed from their pit to attack Volantis. He never had to worry about feeding them afterward.

“Give it some quick thought, then,” Jaime said coldly. “You’ll excuse me, I have to organize some fire brigades.”

“My men can help,” Selmy volunteered. “We have little equipment, but lots of able bodies.”

Jaime almost sighed – virtuous to the last dot as always. “Very well. Have them throw their weapons in a pile and start filling bags with dirt and sand. I will see where they are most needed.”

Jaime hadn’t learned much about dragons during the time he and Brienne had spent in Daenerys’ custody. He knew they constantly roared for food and freedom, and most of Daenerys’ own men were terrified of them. Daenerys had never shown any unease in their presence, but their bond with her was special. With it broken, Jaime feared that the city would have to absorb whatever the dragons let loose, until such time as they were exhausted.

 

Atop a hill in the distance stood a white marble structure topped with seven glittering crystal towers. Drogon longed to see it burn, to smell the sweet scent when its internal timbers collapsed into ash. He and Rhaegal would hit it from above, he decided. They would blast through the center of the roof and set the main building ablaze, then take their time with the smaller surrounding towers. Once they were done, the center should be nice and warm and hollow.

Drogon and Rhaegal flew toward the building in a tight formation and then swooped drastically upward. Climbing hundreds of feet above the tallest tower, they dove and let loose their flame together. The combined dragonfire instantly burned through the roof of the Sept of Baelor. It superheated the air inside and shattered all the intricately colored glass laid into the windows. The flame kept going, melting through the floor, into the basements and crypts beneath. Bones of old kings turned to ash, and then there was a flash of green.

An explosion of wildfire started beneath the sept. Incomprehensible forces propelled outward laterally beneath the square as well as straight up into the main body of the building. The Great Sept of Baelor vaporized in a cloud of green steam and shards of marble. The concussive power of the explosion leveled all structures within 300 yards. Worse, the blast from beneath the square threw the cobblestones out as deadly missiles that punched straight through anything in their path – human, animal, or home. Flaming bits of the sept also rode the blastwave onto the dry tinder of surrounding properties. With the winter already setting in, there was little moisture available to stop the fire from taking hold and quickly spreading.

Drogon beat his wings against the sudden updraft, startled by the vehement eddies of the wind and the sharp fumes in the air. He rode the torrent up and searched for Rhaegal. He found his littermate struggling below. The power of the blast had shredded part of Rhaegal’s wing, and she was losing altitude. Drogon cried out to her, but she didn’t seem to hear. He swooped down, and gave what assistance he could, making a slipstream for her to glide into.

He scanned the horizon. She needed someplace safe to rest, and this city of men and their strange green fire did not seem suitable. He saw something interesting off to the northeast – a castle shaped like a dragon. Such a place could do, and it wasn’t too far. Rhaegal could survive with his help. She had to; she was his only family now.

 

Brienne and Podrick stood vigil near the body of King Tommen. In the city, they could be two more pairs of hands to help with the firefighting, but she felt her duty was here. Jaime had taught her about the crucial role such signs of respect meant for a stable transition. King Tommen would be treated with honor, even though the throne would now pass to a different house. _May it suit the Tyrells better than it did the Baratheons (or Lannisters),_ she thought.

Over time, first her blood-riders, then more of the Dothraki came to investigate and pay their respects before the body of the khal of their khal. The story of his death was a worthy one, all agreed. He died on his horse, directly targeted by dragonfire. He must have been a fearsome enemy indeed to warrant such measures, not that they expected less from someone held in esteem by Khal Brienne.

 

Daenerys’ former soldiers were fast-marched into the city to help contain the rapidly spreading fires. The Dornish were the most amenable, understanding that King’s Landing was too important an asset to lose. Without the throne and the other trappings of Aegon’s conquest, there would be nothing to hold the already splintering realm together. They had no appetite for a war of retaliation if the other kingdoms decided to expand their borders by seizing territory from their weaker neighbor to the south.

The Unsullied and the former slaves accepted the orders from their captains, though some seemed puzzled about what had happened. At first they thought the city had been won and they were now trying to save it for their queen. All the gates had been opened wide to allow them to enter (and women and children to flee), so in some ways it did resemble a surrendered city. Word gradually spread about the queen’s death, however, and they realized they were the conquered people.

Grey Worm knew from the beginning. He had seen Daenerys fall from Drogon and had led the force to retrieve her body. She now lay outside the city’s walls guarded by the last of her khalasar. He mechanically went through the motions of scooping sand into buckets and throwing it onto burning timbers. His desensitized skin did not feel the heat and would be blistered in several places the next morning. He was finally free to determine his own future. Queen Daenerys had freed them all, of course, but none of the Unsullied had left her service. Such was not their way. They now truly owed allegiance to no one for the first time in their lives. It was more terrifying than feeding the dragons and more exhilarating than seeing them fly.

Each time the firefighters seemed to be halting the spread of the blaze and regaining territory, a new front would open when another cache of wildfire exploded. The Guildhall of the Alchemists went first (no great loss, Jaime would remark bitterly afterward) and accelerated the fire greatly with their massive stockpiles. There was a hidden cache in the neighborhood near Fishmonger’s Square that did catastrophic damage to the surrounding homes and businesses. Then, the reserves under the Mud Gate ignited, opening a wide breach in the walls and destroying the recently rebuilt King’s Landing harbor. This unfortunately killed many of those who had been part of a bucket chain transferring water from the Blackwater Rush to the firefighters.

By the end of the day, when the flames were finally tamped down, about a quarter of the city would be lost, mainly in the southeast. Thousands were dead and tens of thousands homeless. Daenerys, the last of the Targaryens, had been kept from the throne. It was a day to inspire singers and mummers for years to come, though none of them could truly understand the cost.

 


	56. King's Landing XXVII - Valonqar

(Meanwhile, in the Red Keep…)

Cersei knew matters had come to a serious pass when Jaime and Brienne didn’t pause to spend the night in the city after their first clash with the Dragon Queen. They dutifully reported that Jaime had cost Daenerys one of her dragons and the rather delicious news that Brienne had stolen some of her mounted warriors. Still, they wanted to head right back out to prepare for the arrival of the bulk of her forces. They turned down a hot meal from the kitchens, saying they’d eat with their men. Brienne didn’t even want to share a bath, and she usually loved bathing.

Cersei grabbed Jaime’s arm. “Tell me,” she demanded. “What are you not saying?”

Jaime gazed into eyes that matched his own. She had always been able to spot his every omission or prevarication. “We’re badly outnumbered,” he admitted. “The deficit of men we have a chance of overcoming with strategy, but we also have two fewer dragons. We’re all basically trusting in the idea that she won’t decide to burn the whole city to the ground if she can’t take it. I’m not as sure of that as I’d like to be.

“Listen closely to Qyburn and his little birds,” Jaime said. “Mind the tide of battle closely. If there’s ever a breach in the walls, or gods help us, a dragon attack, take yourself and Merry to the deepest chamber of Maegor’s Holdfast. Brienne and I will protect this city with every drop of blood in our veins, but we need to know that you’re safe.”

Cersei knew there was no greater fear for a parent than losing a child. She projected a confidence just shy of arrogance towards Jaime and Brienne. “I will keep Merry safe. I swear it on our mother’s name.”

After Cersei made her vow, she could see the lines in Brienne’s face relax and her posture straighten as if an unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Cersei was touched that Brienne trusted her so completely, yet slightly irked that she found herself in the role of wife once again, watching over the children while the men fought. Never mind that one of the children was their king and one of the men a woman.

 

With thousands of hostile soldiers lined up facing the city walls, Cersei had no choice but to summon the highborn women and their children to the Queen’s Ballroom in Maegor’s Holdfast. It would be crowded and tedious, air ripe with the terror-sweat of noble ladies who were unused to any real stress or hardship in their lives. Cersei generally preferred to drink on occasions like this. Indeed, she would have on hand many fine flasks of wine for those who cared to indulge. She’d just as soon break out Yara Greyjoy’s 120-proof Sea Shine, but she felt it was wiser to keep a clear head.

Messengers came to the ballroom every fifteen minutes or so reporting on the tides of battle. Great cheers went up when the crowd learned of the success of Brienne’s mounted warriors in keeping the roads open. Gasps of shock rebounded when they heard that dragons were verified as more than legend. Even the most ancient of the noblewomen stamped her feet when Cersei confirmed Ser Jaime had slain one. ‘Anything-slayer’ one wit in the back dubbed him, but she was drowned out by others calling him ‘Dragonslayer.’ Cersei probably yelled it the loudest (having decided that one nip of Sea Shine wouldn’t hurt).

The ballroom’s mood took a turn for the bleak, however, when reports came in that the walls had been breached. The guards took the usual measures to fortify the holdfast, but Cersei remembered Jaime’s warnings. They were gravely outnumbered, and the holdfast had been infiltrated when her father had sacked the city. Anything built by man could be taken apart by man, to say nothing of dragons. They were approaching an area of queenly leadership where Cersei often faltered. She could face down danger bold as a lion, and she could lead by example. When the others failed to follow, when they remained scared hens clucking nonsense at each other, she always became frustrated.

As if sensing her tension, Merry began to fuss. The dependably good-natured toddler looked ready to unleash a year’s worth of tantrums all at once. Cersei could think of nothing worse than a crying baby to put women’s nerves on edge. Best to remove her from the scene before the scales were tipped irrevocably towards panic. She carried Merry over to Sansa.

“I’m going to take her to the cellars and rub a little strongwine into her gums to settle her down. Try to keep morale up here.” Cersei paused a moment, caught in an unexpected upwelling of affection for the former Stark. She’d survived marriage to Tyrion; she was obviously skilled at putting a bright face on dire events. “You’ve always been good at lifting people’s spirits when times are uncertain. Do your best here today. We don’t have Ilyn Payne this time, so these women will need to keep their heads about them.”

 

The wine cellar had a soothing earthy smell mixed with tones of fruit and vinegar. Cersei liked to retreat here and not just for the wine, though she was aware that her frequent visits had spurred gossip. While Robert was alive, no one blamed her. Now, no one dared.

She unstopped a fresh flask of strongwine and took a swig herself to make sure it hadn’t gone over to vinegar or been poisoned. It burned sweetly all the way down and became spreading warmth in her belly. She declared it safe. Merry’s brows drew in skeptically at the taste, but she was soon smacking her lips and sucking at Cersei’s finger. She had quite a few teeth and had already taken her first wobbly steps. Before long she’d be talking, and then probably asking to train at sword. Cersei had made plans to ensure Merry would have whatever she wanted.

The baby yawned and became drowsy. “You have the tolerance of your mother,” Cersei joked as she picked up the girl and placed her in an empty bin meant for holding flasks of wine. Quite a few empty bins were down here, actually. She’d have to see about restocking their supplies once the war was won. She stood and watched the sleeping child, fortifying herself with the occasional sip of strongwine straight from the flask. After a while, she gave up the pretense and retrieved a crystal decanter and goblet from the wine steward’s office. If the Stranger came for her today, she would toast him in queenly style.

 

“Did our dowager queen just give you a compliment?” Margaery asked. She sat next to Sansa, smiling graciously at Lady Merryweather who’d vacated the seat.

“She has kindness in her. Finding it can be a bit like chasing a vein of gold in an old mine, but it’s there.” Sansa knew why that particular analogy had occurred to her. After spending so much time together at Casterly Rock, she and Cersei had come recognize that their animosity was best left in the past. They had each suffered greatly and had more in common than they’d known. “Will the king be joining us here?” she asked.

Margaery looked distressed. “No, not for a while at any rate. Tyrion says the men defending the walls need to see him. It encourages them to know their king is out there, rallying the troops. I don’t know what he could do, in truth. He’s a terrible shot.” She laughed to show she was joking, but it sounded false to Sansa.

“That same queen, who in addition to sometimes being kind can also give good advice, once told me that in times of trouble, people look to their betters. She was trying to prepare me for marrying Joffrey and being in your place in this situation. I know you’re nervous about Tommen. Think about how everyone else feels whose sons and husbands aren’t surrounded by Kingsguard. You need to break the tension building in here. Try to find an activity to keep everyone’s mind occupied – singing, prayer, whatever you want. I’ll make sure they all go along.”

Margaery nodded gratefully. Tyrion was Tommen’s Hand, but she was starting to think she knew where some of his more practical ideas originated. Margaery stood, immediately drawing all eyes in the room to her.

“Goodness, this is no way to show our support. I know! Let us sing a hymn to each of gods. I’m sure if we do it sweetly enough, they will send forth their protection,” Margaery said. Sansa began the contralto part of _The Father’s Face,_ leaving the leading soprano role to Margaery. Soon all had joined in, many with tears running down their cheeks.

 

Being a one-time member of the Kingsguard had its advantages. Nymeria Sand had made a close study of the hidden entrances and secret passages of the Red Keep. That fool Barristan Selmy wanted to surrender. Even so-called Lord Varys said the war was lost. Perhaps so, but she could win one battle herself in honor of her father’s memory.

Cersei could hear the sounds of combat, which meant the enemy had to be inside the walls. For the thousandth time she cursed the fates for taking the sword out of her hand. If only she could fight for herself. The risk of injury or death would be superior to this helpless waiting. Anything would.

“Greetings, Your Grace,” a voice said. “My family’s vengeance has been a long time in coming, but I will see a portion of it done today.”

Nymeria Sand stood blocking the entrance, a lethal, dark haired beauty now, though Cersei could still see the outline of the Kingsguard she’d pretended to be.

“How did you find me?”

“Please, as if it’s a secret that Cersei Lannister likes her wine better than her company. Any last words? I’d love for you to beg.”

“You will kill me then, an unarmed woman? Is that the state of Dornish honor?”

“It’s not my fault you were not resourceful enough to find someone to train you to use a weapon. And with all your money,” she tutted. “No, you enjoy being able to play the helpless woman, I think. Needing a big, strong defender or two to keep you safe. You get everything you want and never have to dirty your own hands.”

“I will gladly admit to giving the order to have Oberon and the rest of the Dornish executed. He had been a snake in my council for too long. I wasn’t about to let him poison us one by one.”

“No fear of that. I only used poison on the ones who got in my way. For the line of Tywin Lannister, I want you to look in my eyes and know your defeat comes at my hands. I know what your father ordered done to my aunt, my little cousins. His legacy is forever stained with their blood. We cannot suffer you to live.”

The last bit of hope that the Martell-Targaryen alliance was only politics collapsed for Cersei. All that Oberyn had told her was true. The head of House Martell cared more about destroying the Lannister line than taking the throne for his family. Doran had used Daenerys to get his loyal killers close and would now pick off Lannisters one by one.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you started with me,” Cersei said. “You think removing the most powerful pillar of our family will cause House Lannister to fall.”

Nymeria laughed. “My, don’t you love to flatter yourself? But no, you were not our top priority. The king was, of course. Now that he’s gone, the city will fall to chaos soon enough. Hmm, so you’ve lost your last child. How does that make you feel? No one left to give you any claim to authority. Gods know you never earned it on your own. It’s all reflected glory from the men in your life.”

Cersei wanted to disbelieve, but she hadn’t heard a note of falsehood in the assassin’s speech. To the contrary, Nymeria’s eyes sparkled with the joy of relaying ill tidings to her enemy. Could Tommen really have joined the battle? Whyever would he take such a brash chance? Was he trying to impress his father?

“Speak plainly,” Cersei demanded of Nymeria, firmly keeping the tears out of her voice.

“Oh you didn’t know,” Nymeria’s grin spread across her face. “The little king rode out to parley with his rightful queen. She roasted him with dragonfire when he wouldn’t surrender the city. Farewell King Tommen. I suppose you’re queen now, Lady Lannister – for a very brief time, I assure you.”

_No, he couldn’t have been so foolish,_ Cersei tried to tell herself. She’d seen it, though, more and more lately – Jaime’s bold blood showing through. Her last child, the last of her flesh, had thrown his life away due to overeager chivalry.

Nymeria drew an ornate sword – Cersei could see the striking viper on its hilt as the scene seemed to move in slow motion – and advanced with murderous intent. Cersei instinctively tried to flee, but Nymeria’s long-limbed athletic stride caught up to her before she’d taken more than a few steps. Nymeria brought her sword down in a low cut, sweeping the blade across with a flourish. Cersei felt an unbearable pain slice across her belly. Her hands clutched at the wound, quickly becoming sticky from the spill of blood. Slick ropes of intestines slipped through her fingers, and she knew there was no point in resisting death. She fell back onto the room’s preparation table, knocking it over, then slumped to the floor with an undignified groan.

Cersei rolled onto her side to wait for the end. The spreading pool of blood made her think it wouldn’t be long in coming. Good. Robert’s gut wound had caused him to linger for days of agony. She could drift right away if only the murdering bitch would leave her in peace. Nymeria, however, did not make her escape. Nor did she lean down to gloat. She merely turned her back and walked… _oh dear gods no._

Nymeria put away her sword and drew her dagger. The sword would be too much weapon for the little one. She ran her fingers through Merry’s golden curls. The baby woke and began to coo. It was a shame, but there was no room for an exception. Tywin Lannister’s line must become extinct. She brought the dagger to one side, intending to make a quick cut across the throat. Young Aegon’s death had been swift, so she could be merciful with this one.

A smooth pain engulfed Nymeria, her coordination suddenly collapsing. She looked down to see a long shard of glass emerging from her chest. The blood-drenched queen had gained her feet behind her. She held the remains of a broken decanter in dripping, red hands.

“I am Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I have lived a remarkable life that will be remembered in song for ages to come. You are nothing, a bastard with no family of your own. You cannot kill me, and you will not kill my child.”

Cersei felt her legs give out again, but she took satisfaction that Nymeria’s had gone first. She sat next to the younger woman as the light faded from her eyes. Cersei’s pain was bad, but she’d endured worse. She’d lost three children; this couldn’t touch the pain of that. In truth, her hands were bleeding worse than her belly now. It would be infection that killed her, slow and painful just like Robert. The inconsiderate snake hadn’t even had the courtesy to poison her sword.

 

An untold time later, light footsteps roused Cersei from her daze. She had another shard of glass concealed in her skirt if it was a second assassin. She made a promise, and she wasn’t dead yet. She looked up into the grey eyes of… Arya Stark? Had she been here all along, for years? Cersei’s head swam. It was so confusing, and she was so tired.

Arya approached cautiously, taking in every part of the scene. She kicked Nymeria over, observing the glass in her chest. She saw an unharmed Merry struggling to stand in her makeshift crib. After evaluating the extent of Cersei’s injuries, she shook her head with regret.

Arya said, “You were always near the top of my list. Night after night I promised myself I would someday kill Cersei Lannister. My sister changed my mind, but it looks like the fates were not so easily deterred. Let me give you a bit of peace, though. Jaime and Brienne came through the battle uninjured. Don’t you worry; I’ll keep cousin Merry safe until they return. You can rest now. It’s okay. You’ve done your duty. Close your eyes. I can make it better.”

After Cersei’s eyes gratefully drifted shut, Arya found the spot, just to the left of her jaw and applied careful pressure. Cersei’s head slumped forward, unconscious within seconds. Arya brought her other hand around to support Cersei’s neck and prevent her from rousing herself as her mind faded away. Her slim fingers made a tight seal around the artery. Cersei’s end was merciful, her last sensory impression was of Merry’s contented gurgle, not the sharp pain of a knife slash across her throat. In all Arya’s anticipation of this moment, she had never imagined granting Cersei Lannister the gift of a swift and painless death. What strange times were these.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She died heroically & surrounded by wine – that’s how much I love her. I always say her story is the biggest tragedy in the whole damn series.


	57. King's Landing XXVIII - Succession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be two small updates this week; this one & another on Thursday. The different locations and different tones made it feel too jarring to combine into one. It has nothing to do with the perfect summer weather outside.

Tyrion met Brienne and Jaime at the gates of the city. They were part of an honor guard escorting the body of King Tommen and already looked so heartbroken that Tyrion did not know how he would relay the news of what had been discovered in the wine cellars of Maegor’s Holdfast. Sansa’s maid, Mercy, had heard a child crying (or so she claimed, though she wouldn’t have been the first maid to sneak off for some liquid courage in the face of a siege). She found Brienne and Jaime’s daughter in a wine bin unharmed and unaware of the ghastly scene below where Queen Cersei and Nymeria Sand appeared to have fought to their mutual demise.

“Brother,” Jaime greeted Tyrion. His eyes were so flat and tired they barely reflected the torchlight. The conflagration started by the dragons had only recently been contained. Ashes still blew through the streets, and all around hung the smell of smoke tinged with the sharp chemical odor of wildfire.

“Brother. Sister,” Tyrion said somberly. If only he could spare them the ill news for a day, to give them time to recover and even appreciate their momentous accomplishment. Despite it all, King’s Landing had stood firm against an overwhelming force that included two dragons.

“The Sept of Baelor was destroyed?” Jaime asked. It was the question of an exhausted mind because – as anyone could see – the top of Visenya’s Hill now hosted nothing but a pile of rubble. King Tommen would need to rest in the royal sept of the Red Keep for the time being.

“There has been a great deal of loss in the city,” Tyrion said. He put one hand on Jaime’s arm and his other on Brienne’s. “Merry is fine and completely unharmed, but Cersei,” he gulped, surprised to find himself choked with emotion.

“What about Cersei?” Brienne demanded, her bright eyes pinning Tyrion in place. He felt like a small animal confronted by a hunter and trusting in stillness to save his life.

He forced the words out one at a time. “She was… assassinated… in the Holdfast. By Nymeria Sand. Who’s dead now too. Looks like… Cersei took her with her.” To Tyrion, his words sounded staccato and disjointed, but Brienne and Jaime were in too much shock to notice.

Jaime hung his head, overcome. Brienne’s brow pinched so deeply she hardly looked like herself. “Tyrion, are you trying to say that Cersei’s dead?” she asked.

Her mind was refusing to process it, Tyrion could see. She could handle a stand-up fight any day, but the unexpected sucker punch had laid her low. He turned helpless eyes to his brother who engulfed his wife into an embrace.

“Yes, Brienne. That’s what he’s saying,” Jaime whispered.

“But, we promised-”

“Shh, Brienne, don’t.”

The sounds of her raw, keening grief soon broke across the landscape. Jaime did not cry, which worried Tyrion. Jaime and Cersei had come into the world together and had never known life without the other. He could not be expected to make the transition without suffering. Tyrion could only hope he’d accept help in controlling his self destructive impulses.

 

“Tyrion, we have a problem,” Sansa said, waylaying her husband on his return from a late night session of toasting to Cersei’s memory. The reminiscing with Brienne and Jaime over copious cups of fine wine had begun maudlin, turned unsettlingly frank, and then Brienne had fallen unconscious. For all his goodsister’s size, she was still a lightweight.

Tyrion couldn’t stop himself from a burst of manic laughter. “A problem. Really? What a relief. I thought we had several. A multiplicity, in fact.”

Sansa’s dire expression snapped him back to sobriety. “I found something among Cersei’s papers that could pose a real issue.”

“Say on, sweet wife.” Tyrion ran his fingers through his curls, rightly assuming that his hair was already too disheveled for it to matter.

“Cersei named an heir. After Myrcella died, I think she sometimes… forgot that she wasn’t queen in her own right.”

“Let me guess; she named Jaime?” That wasn’t so bad, really. Jaime had never sought the throne and knew as Kingsguard he was honor bound to refuse it.

“No. Merry.”

“Oh gods!” Tyrion exclaimed. “According to Brienne, Tommen named Margaery.”

“I was afraid of that,” Sansa said. “He loved her so much. So, a problem, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tyrion tried to think it through. _Tommen was king, but not yet of age. Since his mother was still regent over him, it was quite debatable whether he had the right to name his own heir. If not, the crown would have traveled to Cersei next. Then, after her, to me if she hadn’t named an heir._ Tyrion took a moment to seethe in the realization that Cersei had probably followed this exact chain of logic as well, and chosen a babe who could barely walk over him.

He responded carefully, “I’d have to look to the precedents, but it may well be the case that Cersei’s will should prevail. I wonder if perhaps that might be the best outcome. If Merry became queen, the Kingdoms would be governed by a council of regents for close to fifteen years. It could include me, Jaime, Brienne, you if you wanted, Pycelle, and a few others who aren’t named Lannister just for appearance’s sake. Perhaps that would be the best way for the Kingdoms to navigate through the winter and the aftermath of war. A council that must consider the opinions of many may be better suited to the present circumstances than one woman, young and untested. We have seen how one person’s rash decisions can accelerate an already unstable situation.”

Sansa considered it. She even longed for it, real power and authority, albeit as part of a council. She imagined the orders and decrees Queen Myrienne, first her of name, could approve. Under Sansa’s guidance, she could officially clear Ned Stark’s name, strip the Boltons of their lands, perhaps even negotiate a treaty of independence for the North.

She shook her head ruefully at Tyrion. “Are you to have our goodsister assassinated, then? For I can think of no other way to still her tongue about the fact that Tommen named a different heir. You know her; you could name her queen regent and it wouldn’t do.”

“We could have her tongue cut out like Ilyn Payne, I suppose,” Tyrion mumbled dejectedly. He hated to abandon what he’d thought was a good idea, but Sansa had a point. A Kingsguard’s testimony about the will of the king would carry far more weight with the populace than his technical arguments about age and regency. Given Tommen’s heroic death, most of the city not longer considered him a boy in any event.

“Margaery is not as much like Cersei as you fear. They were both groomed for the role of queen, but recall, so was I,” Sansa said. She knew that Brienne considered Margaery too cold. In Sansa’s estimation, however, Cersei often allowed her passions to carry her away. Brienne liked passion, it seemed, but there was something to be said for cool deliberation. “Margaery will listen to her small council. She’s not the sort to go about her own agenda without considering what others have to say.”

“We will put it before Jaime and Brienne in the morning and see how they react,” Tyrion said, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, as usual.

 

“SHE DID WHAT?” Brienne yelled, then winced as that hurt her head. Jaime put an arm around her shoulders. He seemed a shadow of himself this morning, suffering in silence. Tyrion could only be thankful they had one another to cling to.

“She designated Merry as her heir. The form isn’t precisely correct, but with the cooperation of the small council, it would be easy to put her on the throne. You may wish to consider if that might be the best way forward for the Seven Kingdoms. An extended regency would lead to some paralysis, it’s true, but also give us time to recover.”

“King Tommen wanted Margaery. I heard it from his lips,” Brienne said hoarsely.

“Yes, but he was still under regency himself. There’s a solid argument for Cersei’s designation.”

Brienne captured Jaime’s eyes. They seemed to have a wordless conversation between themselves. Finally, Jaime spoke. “In the past five years, we’ve gone through three kings. I’ve lost three children, all to royal politics. I’ve lost my sister. Our father has been exiled. Lady Sansa’s father was executed. As far as I can tell, the iron throne leads to nothing but destruction. If I can keep my daughter from that, if she can have a normal life of sewing,” he laughed, “or swordplay, then that is my choice. I’m sure Cersei meant well, but no. Let Margaery be crowned. We’ll serve her. Don’t ask us to put our daughter on the altar of sacrifice.”

Brienne thought once again of Shireen Baratheon living the carefree life of a merchant’s daughter in Braavos and nodded in agreement with Jaime. Merry could possibly grow into a good queen. She seemed to have her father’s way with people and her mother’s even temper. Odds were high, however, that if she took the throne she would never have the chance to grow up at all.

After Jaime and Brienne left to collect their not-queen from her nurse, Sansa turned to Tyrion. “It will be all right,” she assured him. “I have another idea.”

 


	58. Casterly Rock III - Goodbyes

Queen Margaery Tyrell, first of her name, was crowned under what her grandmother referred to as disappointingly austere conditions. Lady Olenna nonetheless made haste from Highgarden to see it. The necessity of a speedy transition coupled with the lack of traditional resources made many compromises necessary. Daenerys’ dragons had destroyed the Great Sept of Baelor and the High Septon was presumed dead, so they had to make do with the most senior surviving septon (until last week, a scholar of ancient texts) and the Grand Ballroom of the Red Keep. Still, the iron throne had survived and Queen Margaery looked suitable on it. All the nobles present bent the knee, and the reign of House Tyrell began. It was a momentous day; a new player had not been added to the wheel in hundreds of years.

Her first act as queen was to allow the Dornish army to disband and return to Dorne after it offered suitable hostages and reparations to begin the reconstruction of King’s Landing. The Unsullied and Daenerys’ assembly of former slaves also gradually melted away. Some returned to Essos, some stayed with the Dornish, and quite a few shucked their old identities to start new lives in the city. Bodyguards and skilled craftsmen were always in demand, and the chaos in the aftermath of war presented a perfect time for reinvention. Brienne’s Dothraki khalasar waited outside the city to follow wherever their khal led. She had been terse since the victory, but that was often the way of warriors. She would find their next battle soon, they had faith.

Queen Margaery seemed intent on reshaping the small council and Kingsguard. She appointed her father, Lord Mace Tyrell, as her Hand and called several Highgarden bannermen to service in the capital. Tyrion could feel the era of the Lannister’s guiding influence ending, surely a devastating blow to his father’s legacy. He wondered if Cersei was railing at the gates of whichever afterlife she’d ended up in. He generously hoped she had wine; he suspected they’d share a table some day. The gods seemed generally that cruel.

The Lannister family decided to inter King Tommen at Casterly Rock in the same tomb as his mother. Brienne noted that they’d both rest easier that way, hoping that didn’t sound too insane. They had lain in state together at the royal sept of the Red Keep while Queen Margaery was crowned and the worst of the city’s emergencies were brought under control. Finally, the Lannisters were given leave to depart and bury their dead.

 

Bannermen from all over the Westerlands gathered at Casterly Rock to pay homage to the late King Tommen and Queen Cersei. The extended Lannister family also arrived, turning the affair into as much of a family reunion as a wake. At first, Brienne was put off by the festive tone, but she could soon tell how much it was helping Jaime come back to himself. Talking with his cousins and seeing all the smiling, golden-haired children allowed him to feel connected to his family again. His elder relatives told stories of the young twins that brought laughter to his eyes rather than pain. Casterly Rock would always be full of memories for him, and Brienne found her own spirits lifted to see him reminded of the good ones.

Remembrance speeches for Cersei came easily. Never one to be self-effacing of her talents, she had been well known by all present. Many held her forth as graceful, beautiful, wise, generous, brave, and kind. Tyrion thought they were laying it on a bit thick, but even he wasn’t so churlish as to say so at her funeral. She was entombed wearing a dress Myrcella had embroidered for her and Brienne’s priceless band of star-rubies around her wrist.

Tommen’s commemoration was more difficult since he had died so young and with so much unexplored potential. Neither his mother nor his father were alive to give an intimate portrait of his life. Jaime could only appear as an uncle and express his regret at what the young king could have achieved had the fates been kinder.

Tyrion found himself volunteering to speak, to spare his brother the pain of trying to disguise his feelings. He stood before the altar of the castle’s sept and addressed the crowd.

“Tommen was perhaps the most unassuming of our recent monarchs. He wasn’t yet a skilled warrior like his father. He wasn’t as comfortable wielding power as his brother, our late King Joffrey. In truth, he had not yet uncovered whatever talents the gods had particularly blessed in him. I think it’s all the more remarkable, then, that he took it upon himself to attempt to negotiate a peace with an implacable foe who threatened our great capital. King Robert would have relied on his charm and King Joffrey on his reckless confidence. Tommen had only his determination to save lives in his city. In a way, I believe that makes him the bravest of them all.”

 

The maester of ravens brought the day’s messages to Lord Tyrion in the sitting room after dinner. Tyrion, Sansa, Jaime, and Brienne were all gathered, but there was little of the carefree conversation of years past. They were all worn out from the emotional labor of the day.

Tyrion grimaced at seeing the seal of the Night’s Watch on a letter. He’d sent word to Tywin of the family’s losses. Now he would have to face his father’s judgment about how it should have been him instead.

To his surprise, however, the message did not address Cersei and Tommen’s deaths. From its tattered appearance, it seemed to have been sent beforehand and traveled a circuitous route before its arrival at Casterly. Tyrion read the letter, quickly overcoming his misgivings about the obviously erroneous delivery as its contents came to light.

> Kevan,  
>    
>  Thank you for your assistance in keeping word of the situation in the far north from reaching the ears of my children. I must warn you that once again my First Steward, Jon Snow, has sent out ravens on the matter. Furthermore, he plans to travel south with some of his men to investigate certain mines in the caves of Dragonstone. Please notify your agents in King’s Landing that he is not to be made welcome in the city. Our foes are massing, but the Wall will hold, as it has for thousands of years. Have courage, brother.  
>    
>  Tywin Lannister,  
>  Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch

Tyrion carefully laid the letter to one side. If he told Jaime or Brienne about it, they would immediately charge off to the Twins to demand answers from uncle Kevan. Now that he thought of it, what had kept Kevan from the funeral? This? Also, if he did not, he would be taking his father’s side. That wouldn’t do. Besides, they’d have a horde of Dothraki screamers at their backs. What could go wrong? Honestly, he’d be grateful to have those particular warriors off the Lannister lands. The castle stewards had already scoured every knackers in the three closest towns for horsemeat.

“Read this,” Tyrion handed the letter to Jaime. “Think on what you want to do. Remember that there are ladies present before you let loose with your feelings on the matter.”

“That conniving, duplicitous… Does he think me too old or craven for a fight? I’m not done in yet! When did he lose faith in me?” Jaime all but whined.

“I believe this is his version of kindness,” Tyrion interjected. “He’s trying to keep you safe.”

Jaime passed the letter to Brienne. She read it with honest puzzlement. “What could be happening in the North? Does he mean north of the Wall? I met Jon Snow once when he was in King’s Landing recruiting for the Watch. He seemed a decent sort and didn’t mention any dire threats.”

“I’ve no idea what’s going on,” Tyrion replied. “There has been no news from the Wall for some time, and I assumed that meant all was well. Apparently we’ve been kept in the dark intentionally.”

 

As Tyrion predicted, Jaime and Brienne insisted on leaving to confront Kevan right away. Brienne tearfully turned Merry over to the care of her aunt Sansa and uncle Tyrion. Her departing comment was a lighthearted but not-joking remark that she’d better not be on the throne when they returned.

An innocent and oblivious toddler was thus the only witness to a strange argument between Lady Sansa and her maid, Mercy.

“I have a proposition to run by you. Try to keep a open mind,” Sansa said.

“I’m on tenterhooks,” Mercy replied.

“What do you think of Robin Arryn marrying Queen Margaery? It would bring together two prominent kingdoms and families at a time when the realms very much need unity.”

“Now? Poor Tommen’s bones are barely cold.”

“Think on what you say. That’s a jape in poor taste. Besides, Joffrey’s were even less so; nearly the same for Renly Baratheon.”

“Well, then I’d say she sounds like a jinx.”

“Superstition doesn’t become you.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Mercy squealed.

“I’m pretty sure she’s used to a celibate marriage if you’re thinking he’s too young.”

“That is one of many objections, yes.”

“From what I know of Margaery, she just wants to be queen. The rest is very optional.”

“She’s queen already.”

“Yes, but her seat is uneasy. Having the Knights of the Vale at her disposal would be very good for the security of the realm.”

“What about providing an heir?”

“If I know Margaery, she’ll manage. If it helps, she’s really a very nice person. She’s just ambitious. That’s not always a bad trait.”

“You are barking mad.”

“I could write her a letter. See how she feels about it.”

“You’re cracked. Do you know? Are you aware?”

“In truth, I already ran it by Lady Olenna. She was quite encouraging.”

“Was that a chuckle? Are you laughing? You’d better not be laughing!” Mercy yelled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Recall that Robin Arryn has not quite been himself lately...)


	59. The Twins

Brienne saw her first real snow as they approached the Twins. She’d encountered occasional bouts of flurries before, but had never seen snow that layered the ground and piled in drifts against the sides of every structure. At first she didn’t understand why it remained, seeming to be impervious to the sun’s warmth. Then she realized that the temperature had fallen so low that it couldn't melt.

Before long, Brienne found the cold unpleasantly pervasive. She was grateful that Jaime insisted they take along warm clothing from the wardrobes of Casterly Rock. She had thought that the furs were excessive, but could now see a time swiftly approaching when she’d gladly pile them on. She had equipped the Dothraki as well as she could, but additional measures were going to be necessary if they needed to travel further north.

Their destination stood astride the Green Fork of the Trident river. The unusual structure was called the Twins because it consisted of two identical castles – both squat and ugly – connected by a bridge. This allowed the lord of the area to command a strategic bottleneck at the narrow entry to the North known as the Neck. The Frey family had amassed a fortune by charging crossing fees, though their wealth had not bought them respect from their fellow riverlords. The majority of the Frey family was now dead, mysteriously poisoned in their own great hall and left to rot. Kevan Lannister served as castellan of the accursed place for the present time. The assignment was supposed to be a punishment, but he seemed to have made the best of it.

Kevan greeted Jaime and Brienne at the gates. Clearly flustered by their arrival, to say nothing of the thousands of Dothraki behind them, he spread his arms wide. He did not seem worse for wear after his dismissal from service at King’s Landing. He was a bit balder perhaps, but every bit as stout and humorless.

“Ser Jaime, my favorite nephew, and his good wife, Lady Brienne! Welcome to gateway to the North. To what do I owe this honor?”

“I think it’s best if we have that discussion in a more comfortable and private setting. I suspect it will take some time,” Jaime said.

“Of course, nephew. Please bring your men into the courtyard and follow me inside. I will be glad of some meat and mead myself.”

The guests proceeded to the grounds of the eastern castle. The Dothraki spread out behind the high curtain wall, grateful to be out of the wind. They were crowded too close by their standards, but Jaime cautioned Brienne against sending any of them to the western castle grounds.

“This place has a history. The last time an army split its forces here, matters did not end well for them. In these times, one cannot completely trust in the laws of hospitality. I don’t expect uncle Kevan means us any harm, but I’d just as soon not take any chances.”

 

Ser Kevan received them in the chamber of the Seat of the Lord. It featured a grotesquely huge chair of black oak, ornately carved in the shape of two towers joined by a bridge. Brienne knew it was meant to impress visitors and call to mind the Iron Throne, but she could only think that anyone who sat on it would look inadequate and childish. Kevan had the good sense to join her and Jaime at a table.

After they had formally entered into Kevan’s hospitality, Jaime asked, “So, uncle, what tidings do you have from the North?” Jaime sat with one leg casually thrown over the other, showing none of the anger and confusion he felt about his father’s betrayal.

“The Northerners are having a bit of a scrap amongst themselves. Nothing to concern the Crown, I assure you. House Bolton took over Winterfell for a time, but Stannis Baratheon and some Ironborn joined forces to drive him out. They chased the Boltons all the way back to the Dreadfort. I have ravens saying both Lord Bolton and his bastard Ramsay are dead, but I can’t be sure of the truth of that yet.”

Brienne inclined her head toward Jaime. This comported with what Yara had told her in an earlier letter. Her plans had envisioned the Ironborn holding Winterfell while Stannis held the Dreadfort, leaving any remaining part of the Bolton forces without shelter.

“What of Stannis?” Brienne asked.

“His army set up camp at the Dreadfort, and they’ll probably be there for the winter. The Kingsroad up to Winterfell, and beyond that to the Wall, is the only road reliably open these days. The area around the Dreadfort has had some fierce blizzards. They’ll be lucky if they dig out before they starve.”

Jaime smiled. Brienne had seen this smile many times in the training yard. He was about to eviscerate someone. “It sounds like all is well under control. No problems that require reinforcements from the south.”

“No indeed.” Ser Kevan relaxed his posture, sensing that his nephew’s trek had been a misunderstanding. “I’m not sure where there was a breakdown in communication, but I have no need of an army of ah, mounted savages.”

“It’s just that I received this letter from Father.” Jaime withdrew Tywin’s message from this belt. “Forgive me, but it seems to say that enemies are massing in the North. Surely you’d not name Tywin Lannister a liar.”

Kevan’s mouth worked as he took in the words of Tywin’s letter ordering him to keep the conflict in the North a secret from Jaime. “How did you get this?” he demanded.

“You know that’s not important. Now tell me what is really happening in the North. It is the remainder of the Freys? Tyrion always feared they’d betray us. Or the Ironborn? Who are the enemies that are massing? Why does Father think I shouldn’t face them? Are they somehow part of our family?”

“You won’t understand. You won’t even believe it. If I didn’t have it out of my own brother’s mouth I wouldn’t believe it either.”

Brienne sat up straighter. She remembered the conversation she’d had with the black brother in Oldtown. She’d intended to bring the matter to Cersei’s attention, but then Myrcella died, and Merry was born. Too much had happened too quickly, and it had fallen by the wayside.

“The dead are marching,” she said. “It’s not just a tall tale to frighten children and glorify the Night’s Watch. The Others are real.”

Kevan grunted. “Real. And deadly. Tywin says they’re outnumbered a thousand to one. But then, that’s the point of a wall 700 feet tall. He wrote it here: ‘The Wall will hold.’ He let through all the living people he could find on the other side and then sealed the passages through the Wall. The wildlings that migrated south help keep it manned along all the castles so that none of the dead climb up. There’s nothing more to be done.”

“I very much beg to differ. You mentioned the army of mounted warriors – skilled warriors, not savages, by the way – who are sworn to fight and die for my wife. You don’t think they could swing the tide of battle?”

“Not the way you think. You’re not listening to me. This is not a regular army we’re facing. The dead feel no pain, need no food, and do not sleep. They shrug off injuries that kill regular men. Some of them can’t even be touched but by Valyrian steel or fire. Worst of all, they turn our dead into more of them. So you see, bringing a large, unprepared army into the fight is just about the best possible way to help the enemy.”

“Father intends to, what, wait out the winter?” Jaime asked incredulously. “To defend the Wall and hope they find no way through it.”

“They haven’t for 8,000 years. There’s no reason to think they’ll come up with one now. They’re numerous but not creative. The maesters think they’ll fade away once spring comes again.”

“The maesters don’t truly believe they exist,” Brienne interjected. “They humor the Watch with analysis, but I’ve spoken to a novice who says the senior maesters laugh at the messages as they come in. The Citadel thinks all the Watch are drinking spoiled strongwine and chasing nightmares.”

Jaime put down his goblet decisively. “We will proceed north along the Kingsroad, uncle. Once we arrive at Winterfell, we can better assess rumors from fact.”

Kevan stood and walked over to a tapestry depicting the terrain of the North. “Come here for a moment, nephew. I have something to show you.”

Jaime joined his uncle at the far wall. Had Kevan not been family, whose loyalty Jaime never truly questioned, he may have noticed his closed body language and the way his stance hid one of his arms behind his back.

Kevan said, “Now as you can see, to reach Winterfell you must first pass through Greywater Watch and then cross the bridge at Moat Cailin.”

Jaime leaned forward to see the strange bend in the road his uncle pointed out.

The mace smashed into Jaime’s right thigh with a meaty crack. Brienne turned at the sound to see Kevan dropping his weapon and backing away. Jaime howled in agony and fell to the ground. Brienne’s gaze bounced back and forth between the men for a second, but Kevan did not seem to be fleeing. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with this back against the wall. She ran to Jaime’s side.

“It’s broken,” he grunted. “It won’t hold any weight.” Mercifully, the broken bone had not penetrated his skin, but Jaime’s pain was evident and his shock growing worse by the moment.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Brienne yelled. She drew her sword automatically and advanced. She knew that even now Jaime wouldn’t want her to kill his uncle, but the steel in her hand lent her comfort and gave her words more authority.

Kevan locked eyes with her and put up no defense. “I did it for his own good. You have to stay out of the North, both of you. The dead are walking, wanting nothing more than to snuff out all that’s living. Those slain fighting them come back as foes. There’s nothing you two can do up there but die and lend your bodies to the Night King.”

“We wield Valyrian steel! We can cut through even the worst of them. I never imagined the great lion of Lannister would be such a coward.”

“You can’t imagine any of it, that’s the problem. Good thing that now you’ll never see it. Surely you’re not so stubborn as to take Ser Jaime north with a broken leg. Return to the King’s Landing and let the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch do his duty. I surrender. You may do with me as you see fit. My actions were for the greater good of our shared house, though; believe it.”

Brienne’s jaw set in fury. “Take me to your head maester.”

 

Jaime’s eyes shone with milk of the poppy as Brienne lifted him with immense care and settled him into the medical wagon. It had been padded as well as possible, and they were taking the maester along with them, but she knew beyond a doubt that his suffering would be frightful.

“You don’t have to do this, Jaime. If it were me injured, you know you’d insist we turn around.”

“And I know you’d be angry at me for years over it. This is my mission, wench. I will face my father even if I have to do it hopping on one leg. I could do that now, I think. Milk of the poppy is good stuff.”

She snorted and lay him down in the wagon with a kiss. They both knew it would be far worse soon. Milk of the poppy relieved pain, but also led to nausea and difficulty breathing. Too much (and the proper dosage varied wildly by individual) caused hallucinations. Too sudden a withdrawal would result in tremors and full body pain often worse than the original injury. It was a desperate measure for a desperate time, and she hated that they had to resort to it.

“Ser Podrick,” Brienne addressed her former squire and present bloodrider. “I leave Ser Kevan in your custody. Notify the Crown of his crimes. You may hold him in the castle dungeons or tower at your choice. Do not allow him any visitors unless the queen says otherwise. He’s not as handsome or well spoken as most of the Lannisters, but let’s take no chances. The Twins are now in your care.”

“Thank you, m-my lady,” Pod said, looking downcast.

“Are you well, Pod?”

“Yes, my lady. Only I th-thought I’d be traveling north w-with you. You’ve not lost f-faith in me, have you?”

“Of course not, Pod!” Distracted by Jaime, she hadn’t recognized Podrick’s reluctance to leave her side. She stood fully before him and regarded him from head to toe. “You’re a knight now. No one has to look over your shoulder anymore. It’s because I trust you that I want you in charge of this castle.”

“I appreciate your tr-trust my lady, b-but I want to fight.”

“Oh Pod, I understand. You follow the same code I do and want to help those in need. You’re like a son to me; surely you know. I am cheered by the idea that you’ll be safer here than up north, I admit. I’d have you with me if I could, though. I always feel more confident with you watching my back. However, if we need to call up further reinforcements – and I expect we will – I need someone here who will keep the gateways open. I suspect,” she added nonchalantly, “that young Lord Tarly will be a part of any such force. Perhaps being here to welcome him would be a nice consolation.”

Podrick blushed, but his hands went self-consciously to the burn scars on his face. “I would like to see him again. I hope he still feels the same about me.”

“You can’t think such a thing would make any difference to him, especially considering how you earned them. Have you learned nothing from me? Appearance matters not at all when the love is true.”

“I suppose few enough people would have predicted you’d end up married to the handsome Ser Jaime Lannister.”

“Me?” Brienne said in mock offense. “He’s the one with the facial scar. They don’t call me Brienne the Beauty for nothing, you know.” Both of them were fairly amazed she could joke about that now. She kissed Pod once on each cheek and left to make final preparations for departure.

 

The group headed out for the Kingsroad under a light snowfall. Brienne rode in the lead, but slowly to ensure the supply wagons and the precious medical wagon containing Jaime didn’t get stuck in the snow. Her Dothraki followed, all wrapped at least in warm cloaks. The size of the Frey family had fortunately led to extensive stores of clothing. They would need more of everything the further north they went, but she would take each challenge as it came.

Jaime tried to keep his groans of pain to himself. The master had done excellent work in straightening and stabilizing the leg, though at the time Jaime had cursed his ancestors back five generations. He was a soft-hearted man, however, and tended to overdo the milk of the poppy. Whenever Jaime took a dose, phantoms started to dance in the periphery of his vision.

He saw Aerys, blood running down his royal neck. The king tried to call further orders from the grave, but Jaime had forever silenced him. He saw Arthur Dayne standing atop a hill, shining like a knight of legend. Jaime didn’t dare behold his expression, too afraid he’d see disappointment in his eyes and never recover from the blow. He saw Cersei standing alone and looking forlorn, as if she was confused about where her twin had gone. He saw Joffrey at several ages, each time seeming more twisted than the last. _If only I’d stepped in earlier. If only…_

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I failed you, all of you. Please tell me how to atone,” he begged the ghosts of his past.

In the present, the kind maester considered another dose of milk of the poppy, though it was too soon. He wisely switched to sleeping syrup instead, and Jaime’s restless twilight deepened to a more healing slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be no updates for the next two weeks due my going on vacation. After that, I’ll return and wrap up the last installments of the final arc. Thanks so much for hanging in there with me! I dearly hope you have enjoyed.


	60. Winterfell

Brienne’s tired, frozen spirit offered up a cheer to see the massive edifice of Winterfell appear over the horizon. Travel up the Kingsroad had been as brisk as possible considering the season. In truth, she'd feared worse. They met with no major snowstorms and only lost a few horses to hidden obstacles. Jaime even complimented the cold for keeping his leg numb as he recovered. He’d made much faster progress after the maester ran out of milk of the poppy. His determination soared when his mind was no longer disturbed by uncontrolled visions of the past. He could now nearly walk on his own for short distances, though he kept a stick handy to prevent any slips that could deal him a setback. For the most part, Kevan Lannister’s vicious attack was becoming a matter of bitter memory.

The monotonous landscape of the North had made the journey seem longer than two moons. All around were blinding white drifts of snow, broken only occasionally by skeletal trees or mounds of grey stone. Most of the villages they passed were completely deserted, their citizens having already sought refuge at the winter towns that sprung up near major castles. Or, perhaps more likely, they’d been decimated by the slaughter of Robb Stark’s army, then further ravaged in the northern clashes that followed. Brienne reflected that as much as the southern kingdoms had suffered recently, the North had faced worse and an earlier winter to boot.

Winterfell was a huge castle complex, occupying many acres of land, including an ancient godswood and natural hot springs. Legend said it was build by Brandon the Builder himself after the Long Night, but that was surely a grandiose exaggeration. At the very least, it could only apply to the oldest keeps as there were plain differences in architectural styles between the outer and inner buildings. Its history notwithstanding, the double layers of defensive walls with a moat between them and the many guard towers that lined the inner walls showed that this castle was built with war and defense prominently in mind. There were no touches of fanciful decoration like the immense dragon sculptures of Dragonstone or areas given over to beauty as in any southern castle, particularly Highgarden.

Though Harrenhal was larger and Casterly Rock actually carved from natural stone, Brienne thought Winterfell looked more permanent somehow; as if it had risen from the surrounding land piece by piece and would never materially change. Drawing closer, she could see that this impression was not well grounded in fact. The castle showed clear marks of fire damage, and many of the outbuildings had been destroyed entirely. Most of the older structures seemed to have fallen into disuse and were becoming overgrown. Standing apart from some burnt-out ruins, a new stables had been hastily and inexpertly constructed. The Great Hall also showed signs of collapse and shoddy repair.

Winterfell’s recent history proved that even the mightiest castles were vulnerable to betrayal from trusted insiders. First, Theon Greyjoy had led a small band of Ironborn to take the castle from a vulnerable Bran Stark, a boy he’d known since his birth. Then, after the Boltons reclaimed it for the North, they betrayed their allegiance to House Stark and declared themselves the new wardens of the North. When Stannis and the Ironborn seemed sure to retake the castle, the Boltons partially sacked and burned it on their way out. Brienne shook her head at all the dishonorable acts and senseless destruction. She’d always wanted to be a knight, to uphold honor and defend the defenseless, but more and more, she saw war as nothing but waste.

 

Jaime knew that Sansa had been in regular contact with Winterfell since her half-brother took up residence there. Before they left Casterly Rock, she had done her best to impart her knowledge of the area and its present happenings. The title of Lord of the castle would have been a hotly contested issue in the south, but according to Sansa, the problem of the moment seemed to be that no one wanted it. Jon Snow currently performed the duties but scrupulously avoided the title of Lord Stark. Robb and Rickon Stark had died in the wars. Bran Stark still lived but was said to follow a higher calling. Sansa understandably preferred to remain as Lady Lannister, and Arya Stark was presumed dead (though Jaime wondered… something in Sansa’s letters seemed to have put their host in an uncharacteristically chipper mood).

Jon Snow greeted Jaime, Brienne, and Brienne’s mounted army in generous Northern fashion, going beyond providing meat and mead to assigning covered quarters for all the men. Jaime found it suspicious that he would so easily admit a strong force connected to the Lannisters. He reminded himself to let go of the past Lannister/Stark animosity. Snow surely had enough reason to turn them away – certainly there were lingering questions about the deaths of both Ned and Catelyn Stark – and yet agreed to host them anyway. Such a sign of trust should not be regarded lightly.

“My Lord,” Jaime began, “my faithless uncle – on orders from my father – has kept the south ignorant of the situation in the far north. We are traveling to learn the truth of the matter, preferably from the Lord Commander’s own lips. You do us a great kindness by providing shelter for so many. I wonder if we could trouble you for your assessment of the situation at the Wall.”

“Well, my Lord, my Lady,” Jon bowed awkwardly. He’d clearly never been tutored in etiquette or expected to hold a noble title. “Please call me Jon as I’m no lord myself. Lord Commander Tywin has made some good decisions up at the Wall as well as some I don’t agree with as much. He let through any wildlings what could make it there and demanded nothing in return. They can serve in the forts other than Castle Black without taking the oath, or they can pass on to the Gift. I think that’s all very wise.

“Once the wildlings stopped coming, though, he closed all the passages and flooded ‘em so they’d freeze solid. I’m not so sure I agree with that, because it meant we couldn’t send out ranging parties any more. He says everything beyond the Wall is dead now, and I’m sure he’s right. Trouble is, they’re restless dead. They’re massing in the north side of the Wall, thousands upon thousands. Not just people either – there’s giants, mammoths, dire-bears. He says the Wall will hold, but to me, it looks like they’re waiting for something.

“The biggest difference between me and the Lord Commander is that he thinks they’re all mindless, just some weird phenomenon of the North connected to bad winters. Begging his pardon, but none of the actual northerners seem to agree, and there are wildlings who've seen more winters than him. I think if they’re similar to anything in nature, it’d be like bees. There’s not much to any one, but the hive is led by some guiding force.”

“Doesn’t the Lord Commander intend to fight them? We heard that you were sent to Dragonstone in search of materials to use against them,” Jaime said.

“Aye dragonstone to use for arrowheads, and I found that,” Jon laughed. “A mine full of it and so much more. Let me show you.”

He led Brienne and Jaime across a courtyard and up three flights of stairs. From their new height, they could look down into the remains of a collapsed tower. Inside, two huge, scaled forms huddled together.

“Dragons had returned to Dragonstone,” Jon Snow whispered in awe. “The green one took to me right away. The black one follows wherever she goes. When I made to leave, she brought me here on her back. It must have been the fastest trip ever across the continent, but it felt like the longest day of my life.”

Jaime kept his expression neutral, even going away a little inside his own mind to prevent his emotions from spilling out and souring the interaction with Jon Snow. Of course those beasts, including the one who’d killed his son, hadn’t disappeared from his life forever. He’d slain one, and another had slain Tommen; they were mortal enemies now as far as he was concerned. Suddenly Jaime understood why Snow had no fear of allowing himself, Brienne, and her army into his home. If they betrayed him, the dragons were more than a match for the entire group.

“Their names are Rhaegal and Drogon,” Brienne said. “Daenerys Targaryen brought them from Essos in her doomed attempt to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Do you plan to take them north to fight the Others?”

“I do. They breathe fire, and what could those undead creatures do against a foe that strikes from the air? There’s only one problem – Stannis Baratheon. He’s taken over the Dreadfort and is rallying the northern clans to his side. If I leave with the dragons, he’ll march on Winterfell. I can’t be sure the Ironborn here wouldn’t open the gates for him.”

Brienne looked like someone had given her an early Sevenmas present. “It would be helpful, then, if he were dealt with in some way?” she asked.

“Very much, my Lady, but I couldn’t ask-”

“I consider it my duty,” Brienne said, “and an overdue one at that.”

 

Jaime's wooden walking stick tapped lightly across the cobblestones surrounding the courtyard then fell with a clatter as he discarded it for good. At long last, he felt stable without the crutch. He may always be left with a limp, especially in this damnable cold, but he’d rather not show any weaknesses at this meeting. He willed himself to stop thinking of the Starks as enemies, but the oppressive weight of Winterfell surrounding him made that all the more difficult. His eyes skipped involuntarily to the crumbled pile of masonry that was once the First Keep. Some of the gargoyles that Bran Stark had been climbing to inspect remained intact on its roof.

In battle, Jaime never allowed himself time for fear. It clouded the mind and dulled the reflexes. He felt life was best lived in the present. However, now that his present was starting to approach a conversation with the boy he’d maimed, he had to admit a leaden weight of dread in his inners. He could see the young man sitting beneath the largest weirwood tree in the godswood with his legs stretched out unnaturally straight. He had grown tall and lean, but his limbs were as thin as a scarecrow’s. Even his former companions said his mind had grown strange since traveling through the northern wastes.

“My Lord,” Jaime bowed, determinately keeping a wince from his face. “I beg your pardon, but your brother said you would prefer not to be called Lord Stark.”

“He is not my brother,” Bran replied. “And I am not Lord Stark. I am the Three-Eyed Raven.”

“Very… good,” Jaime said, surprised at Bran's coldness to Jon Snow whom he had once surely looked up to as an older brother. “Some also call you a seer. I suppose if that’s true, the reason for my visit is known to you.”

“There are many reasons for your visit, most beyond your control. If you mean to apologize, it is not necessary.”

“I do apologize, nonetheless. I offer no excuse, as there is none. In a moment of panic, I did a truly despicable act. There is nothing I carry more shame about than that, and I'm sure you know well the life I’ve led.”

“You killed a boy that day. You’ve killed many young men in battle, some not much older, and felt no need to apologize. That boy, as a second son, might have grown up to be a knight and thus killed others. Perhaps you saved lives, then. It is not for me to say. I am needed to be as I am. For that to be true, the boy had to die.”

“It’s not human to bear no ill will after what I did,” Jaime replied, startled.

“As you say.”

Jaime now understood what they meant about a strange bent of mind. He’d been prepared for rage or an imposition of guilt, but the wall of dispassionate calm left him flummoxed. “Is there nothing I can do to show my contrition?”

“There is not. Or, as your wife would say, you can do your duty. That is all that is required.” Bran’s face slightly softened, and his lips curled the tiniest amount. It looked a bit like mercy. “Your Lady is good for you. Her next pregnancy will go well. I wouldn’t challenge her about the name.”

“Challenging her is rarely a good idea,” Jaime responded, doing his best to link his shocked eyes with Bran’s.

 

Though Winterfell sprawled for acres, most of its residents craved companionship rather than privacy. Therefore, the Great Hall was crowded night and day, constantly buzzing with conversation and nervous energy. Brienne’s attention was drawn to a splash of vivid color. While the rest were dressed in the black of the Night’s Watch or the rustic furs of wildlings, one of the room’s occupants stood out. Rather than welcoming it, however, she felt her jaw clench in frustration. Worse, the woman in red returned her gaze and slowly glided over to speak with her.

“I have been awaiting your arrival, Beauty.”

“Of course you have,” Brienne said, failing to keep the bitterness or skepticism out of her voice. “I expected you’d be with Stannis. Is he now as superfluous to your visions as King’s Landing?”

“He is steadfast in his mission. I find that admirable. My place is now with God’s chosen, however.”

“That is no longer Stannis? Your god is fickle, it seems.”

“Fire is oft held to be so by those who cannot see the purpose in the blaze. You have your own destiny, and it does not involve King’s Landing. Don’t let that city concern you any longer.”

“Don’t let it- It’s half a million people! Your willingness to throw their lives aside is why I’ll never trust you. How could you not warn us about the dragons setting off the wildfire? The entire city could have burned flat!”

“All those people will die anyway if the Others breach the Wall. Their lives are only held in abeyance for now. How well you play your role will have a large part in determining their fate. Besides, you know as well as I that your anger stems from one death, not thousands.”

Brienne’s pent-up rage washed over her to the point that she could have cut Melisandre down where she stood. She might have, if there was the slightest chance she could do so and still attempt the mission to the Dreadfort. “You did see it, then. I would have done anything for your Red God if he would have prevented it. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

_Because you would still be there. Because you were distracted by the world. You do not truly believe, so her needs would have kept you away until all life succumbed to the Forever Night._ “Prophecy never cuts a clean path. Interpreting the visions takes a great toll.”

“Bullshit. I’ll have nothing more to do with your witchcraft.” Brienne tried to turn away, but Melisandre stopped her with an unnaturally warm touch to her hand.

“Do not falter now. You’ve come so very close to your duty.”

“To killing Stannis, you mean. Which somehow, in this complicated game of cyvasse you think is occurring between supernatural forces, will lead to the Other's defeat.”

“I have seen a fuller picture. Yes, you will serve the greater good, like it or not.”

Before she could reply with word or potentially violent deed, the distinctive sound of Dothraki war cries carried from the largest courtyard. Alarmed, Brienne ran outside, drawing her sword and scanning frantically for enemies. Instead of a threat, however, she saw her fierce warriors cavorting through the snow in an open area. They looked for all the world like they were having fun.

Brienne was forced to dodge abruptly as a projectile arced towards her. When it splattered against the castle walls, she could see it was a snowball. Her bloodrider Kono rode over and dismounted, his broad smile in no way diminished by the marks of snow on his clothes. On the field, Dothraki performed daring maneuvers to scoop up snow from horseback and prepare their attacks. Kono pointed to the hooves of his mount with evident pride. Showing off his newfound skill with the common tongue, he said, “Those northern fighters, the wildlings, show us. Now horses can run on the cold, wet sands.”

Brienne saw that the horses had been fitted with woven snowshoes that kept them from sinking as far into the snow. Finally, the Dothraki considered them to be able to move at a pace suitable for a people who prize their freedom and mobility above all.

“Good,” Brienne said, “for I believe I’ve found our next battle.”

 


	61. The Dreadfort

Brienne hated to admit it, but Jaime’s high spirits were getting on her nerves. Obviously, she’d rather see him glad of heart than suffering with a broken leg as on the journey north to Winterfell. He was acting so glib though, so very pleased about something. Brienne wanted to concentrate on her upcoming confrontation with Stannis, but between Jaime’s jokes and the Dothraki war whoops, the moment lacked solemnity.

“Look familiar?” Jaime asked. He pulled a snarling open-mouthed face and pointed toward the Dreadfort. “Do you see? The battlements look like teeth.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at his foolishness. “Why are you in such good humor? This could be quite a substantial battle, you know. Stannis has nowhere else to go. He’ll fight all the more fiercely for being cornered.”

Jaime grinned at her. Who did she think she was kidding, pretending not to be gleefully anticipating meting out justice for Renly Baratheon? The sun reflected off her white-blonde hair giving her the semblance of an aura, like an avenging angel. His smitten smile broadened. “You're going to survive,” he said.

Brienne shot him a bemused look. “That is indeed good news, I suppose. Dare I ask how you know?”

“The greenseer, Bran Stark – or the Three-Eyed Raven now – said so.”

Brienne’s expression darkened. “I’d rather not put any faith in prophecy. It never seems to turn out the way you think it will.” After a moment’s pause, she broke her own resolve and asked, “What did he say about you?”

“I’m to do my duty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Prophecies are stupid. I told you,” she said, chiding herself for asking and even more irritated than before.

“It was actually a little better news that your mere survival, but never mind. Thanks for shitting on the first bit of hope I’d heard in a while, you dour wench,” he grumbled affectionately.

“Listen to me – perhaps greensight is more dependable than fire; perhaps it’s not. We don’t know enough to say. I trust my hands, my sword. I trust you to guard my back. That’s my choice – to put my faith in what I can see and touch. I’m done trying to glimpse anything the gods haven’t seen fit to put before me.”

“Mmm,” Jaime mumbled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her. His lips still curved in a know-it-all grin, she noted.

 

The Dreadfort did look like it had teeth. In most respects it was similar to the other northern castles they’d passed, squat and ugly with steeply pitched roofs to prevent snow from accumulating. The triangular shape of the merlons atop its walls, positioned in front of the central keep with two large, symmetrical windows, strongly called to mind a snarling face. Stannis’ flaming heart banners now hung outside. Apparently he hadn’t renounced the Red God even after parting ways with Melisandre. At least the unsettling pink and red flayed man sigil of the Boltons was no longer in evidence. Brienne wondered if the rumors were true of a secret chamber where the Boltons displayed the skins of their enemies.

Brienne’s bloodrider Sulaego whistled as he spotted the first of Stannis’ scouts. Not even able to patrol by horse in the deep snow, the small force would give her Dothraki little challenge. When Stannis’ men blew their warning horns and tried to run, however, Brienne had no choice but to lead the charge to cut them down. Her forces advanced, stopping well short of the castle walls. She had no intention of allowing her men to be picked off by archers.

A closer examination revealed that the Dreadfort’s gates were newly repaired from a breach. The destruction here hadn’t been so thorough as at Winterfell, probably because Stannis knew he would need shelter once the battle was done. The only grisly reminders of a prior battle were the two human heads impaled on pikes upon the battlements – Lord Roose Bolton and his bastard Ramsay, Brienne presumed. She estimated that it would take her army little effort to construct a battering ram from some of the surrounding trees. The gates wouldn’t hold long.

Perhaps the castle’s inhabitants ran the same calculations. The sally port of the gates opened, and Ser Davos Seaworth rode out. Brienne wasn’t surprised to see him here, though she would have rather avoided it. They’d done favors for one another in the past and parted on good terms. She hoped he would not insist on dying for his king.

“Greetings my lady,” Davos inclined his head respectfully. His mount plodded through the deep snow, wary of hidden obstacles, until Davos was close enough to parley.

“And to you, Ser Davos.”

“I confess, I figured someday you’d show up with an army.” He gestured at the Dothraki. “Not necessarily this army...”

“The war in the south did not go entirely according to anyone’s plans. You seem to have taken the Dreadfort with little destruction. Didn’t the Boltons put up much of a fight?”

“It’s worse inside than out. Theon Greyjoy insisted on using Ironborn tactics. Him and some of his men scaled the walls and took a bunch of the Bolton guards by surprise. He didn’t quite manage to get the gates open before they raised the alarms, but he wreaked a lot of havoc. Once Stannis’ men busted down the gates, it was all over. The Ironborn didn’t allow any Boltons to surrender; they killed them to a man. And what he did to Ramsay Bolton… Let's just say I had all the dogs in the kennels shot afterward. Can’t keep a beast that’s developed a taste for human blood. Now, what were you saying about the war in the south? Is young Tommen still on the throne?”

“The war in the south is over. King Tommen and Daenerys Targaryen are both dead. Queen Margaery sits the throne, and there is peace once again. She may be inclined to pardon everyone else inside the Dreadfort if Stannis will submit himself for arrest.” Brienne was becoming more used to negotiating as an agent of the Crown. She felt confident that Margaery would have no appetite for sending Crown soldiers north during winter to extinguish the last embers of Stannis’ rebellion.

Davos shook his head. “If you knew Stannis at all, you’d know he’s not the sort to back down from a fight when his claim is just. He believes the gods – the Red God, I mean – will see him through to victory if he remains faithful.”

Brienne could read Davos’ resignation in his face. He was telling the truth, as much as he may not like it or even agree. He would follow Stannis to the end, however. She lowered her voice.

“We’re thousands strong. Your gates won’t hold. I’d rather not slaughter everyone inside.”

“That makes two of us, my lady,” Davos quipped. “Would you accept a one-on-one duel?” he asked in a moment of sudden inspiration. “Winner takes the castle. Loser’s soldiers are allowed to vacate the area.”

“I would. We’ll even show you how to travel better through the snow, for when you leave.” She had learned a bit from Jaime about getting a dig in. She knew it was reckless to accept a duel in substitution for a battle she’d surely win. A battle would result in many casualties, however, while this way there would only be one.

“Good. I’ll go try and talk him into it. Don’t make that face. He’s an honorable man and not a foolish one. He’s not looking to throw his mens’ lives away either. I’m just not sure if he’ll agree to fight a woman.”

Brienne cast her gaze around. She didn’t think it was her imagination that made the surrounding forest seem familiar. She’d seen it before, in the flames. The prophecy had found her.

“I think he’ll need to,” she said. “Tell him R’hllor foretold it.”

 

Brienne ordered her Dothraki to trample down a circle of snow in the field outside the castle as an impromptu fighting pit. Once they were done, it looked just as she remembered – the snow, the trees at the edge. It felt almost unchivalrous to have the fight, considering that she knew the outcome. Then again, hadn’t she promised herself that she was done with prophecy?

Stannis approached with Davos trailing closely behind. He was a Baratheon, beyond doubt. Tall and broad of shoulder, with dark blue eyes. The little hair remaining to him circled his head in a black fringe, looking like the shadow of a crown. He was King Robert’s rightful heir by the principles of succession, even Brienne would admit it now that the point was moot. If only he’d tried legal, rational arguments rather than succumbing to witchcraft and killing his brother, so very much about so many lives would have been different.

He kept a neat appearance even in what must be trying conditions. His beard was closely cropped and his britches were clean. He wore grey platemail inlaid with his flaming heart sigil. His sword looked to be well-crafted but not Valyrian steel. He was esteemed as less of a fighter than either of his brothers. Still, all Baratheons trained at arms since childhood. Brienne would not be such a fool as to take him lightly, even with her khalasar howling their encouragement and her bewildering, infuriating husband still smiling.

“Lord Stannis, I’ve come to request you turn over the castle to me and return to King’s Landing for judgment. You stand accused of rebellion against the Crown and the murder of your brother, Renly Baratheon.”

“You can skip the formalities. My Hand gave an adequate response in my place. No, I will not return to King’s Landing. A duel seems a civilized enough way to resolve the matter. To yielding, unconsciousness, or death. Ser Davos will be my witness.”

“And Ser Jaime mine.”

“Then let us have at it, Lady Knight.”

Brienne stood up straight and tall, her white armor gleaming bright as the snow. She drew Oathkeeper and assumed her stance.

Stannis seemed positioned to fight defensively which was so unlike his brothers that Brienne suspected a trick. She made a few cautious strikes and was surprised at the weakness of his parries. A more aggressive series of overhand attacks and lunges brought a retreat from Stannis. Her khalasar began to hoot at his lackluster performance.

Finally, backed into the snow beyond the fighting ring, Stannis made his first real attack, a sweeping cut at Brienne’s midsection that forced her to leap backwards to avoid it. He next tried a return sweep aimed at her legs, but she blocked it. She was again confounded by the lack of strength behind the blow. She didn’t really even need to deflect it; her armor could have handled it without leaving a bruise. She took a closer look at Stannis’ face and saw some of the details his careful grooming tried to hide. His hollow cheeks hidden under his beard spoke of inadequate rations. The dark splotches under his eyes said he was either ill or not sleeping well.

Brienne abandoned caution in an effort to bring the fight to a swift end. The audience roared their appreciation (including, she was fairly sure, Jaime). Strike after strike, she backed Stannis up until he was onto the snow again. One more heavy blow and the sword flew from his hands to sink deep into a drift. He stumbled to one knee near the tree line. There it was. The moment from the vision.

“I yield. Go on. Do your duty.” Stannis knelt beneath the trees, exhausted and beyond caring. Brienne realized he’d known for a while that his dreams of the throne were ash, but was too stubborn to admit his mistakes. That would mean acknowledging the murder of his brother for nothing but a mad witch’s vision. She could see how that would be intolerable, how even death would be preferable.

Brienne lifted Oathkeeper in preparation for a merciful killing blow, just as she’d seen herself do. Stannis was broken, beaten. She hesitated, wondering if revenge more than justice was driving her actions. How would Stannis’ death help the greater good? Renly wouldn’t return from the dead, nor anyone else she’d lost in the meantime. The North would still be locked in winter. The Others would continue to mass beyond the Wall. She remembered a different Lord once in a similar position to Stannis. She lowered Oathkeeper to a guard position.

“If you ask, I will allow you to take the Black. You’ve seen how desperately the Wall needs men. Lord Commander Tywin is even allowing wildlings to serve without taking the oath. I believe if you volunteer and bring your men along, he would have places for them and make them the same deal.” She was rather counting on it, in fact, for her Dothraki.

“You would have me beg you for mercy?”

“I would have you try for redemption. Humble yourself and serve the interests of the living.”

Jaime said gently, “If my lady finds you worthy of forgiveness, you may find you are also able to forgive yourself.”

“Death or duty, eh?” Stannis asked. “Very well. I will serve. It will burn with the heat of a thousand nightfires, but I will serve.”

“I will go with you, Your Grace,” Davos said. “Me and most of the lads, I reckon. We’ll see this through by your side.”

“No Ser Davos. I have a more important mission for you. Once I take the Black, the crown should pass to Shireen. I want you to vow that when she comes of age, you’ll regroup my army and help her claim her throne.”

Davos’ head tilted as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He balked, “Shireen? No.”

“Yes, Davos. She is the only true-born Baratheon left after me. The throne is hers by right. You’re the only man I can depend upon to ensure she achieves what I could not.”

Davos took in a deep breath. “No, it’s not in her best interests. An army of a thousand men and hired mercenaries won’t win a rebellion once the Crown’s had time to rebuild their forces. Most importantly, she’d not choose it. She’d not be happy a minute as queen. She’s quiet. Thoughtful. If you’d ever tried to understand her, you’d know it’s not in her nature.”

“I’m her father, so it is her nature!” Stannis thundered, displaying by far the most emotion Brienne had seen from him today.

“I’ve been more of a father to her than you ever were!” Davos yelled in reply, his loyalty finally stretched to the breaking point by his love for the girl.

Brienne said, “She’s healthy and well, Stannis. Leave it at that. Can’t you see how many lives the quest for the throne has destroyed?”

Stannis swallowed a bilious response. His firm sense of right and wrong had always been his guide. He knew Shireen belonged on the throne, but if no one here would help in that, requesting execution was no better solution.

“Fine,” Stannis said. “Davos, I discharge you back to your home and family then. I’ll have no use for you at the Wall. What’s a Hand without a King, after all?”

“It’s been an honor, Your Grace,” Davos said, still angry but with real affection underneath it.

Brienne nodded formally. Once again, the visions in the flames had misled her. She’d never seen his head roll, true, but she felt ill-used. It also seemed Jaime’s prophecy was right – she lived – and while his smugness irked her, it was better than the alternative.

 

The Dreadfort was rather lacking in romantic atmosphere, so winter or not, Brienne and Jaime made love within a cocoon of furs beneath the stars. Jaime finished inside her this time. His fear of a disastrous pregnancy, of ‘killing her with his lust,’ as he put it months ago, seemed to have faded recently. _Since Winterfell_ , Brienne realized. Snapping alert, she nudged Jaime.

“Did Bran Stark tell you something about another child?” she asked.

“Clever wench,” he muttered, half asleep.

She shook him harder. “All right. Tell me everything he said.” Her stubbornness about not paying any heed to prophecy finally gave way to her curiosity about this matter.

“He said your next pregnancy would go well. That’s all, but it’s enough.” Jaime cupped her cheek and raised up to kiss her.

By sheer force of will Brienne refused to melt into his embrace. “What about you, apart from doing your duty?”

“I didn’t ask about me. I suppose I should have, for your sake, but I’ve always been a selfish man.” He pulled her astraddle him. Brienne could feel he was ready to do his duty here, too.

“Yes you are – _ah_ – but also a kind one. You know that nothing would hurt me more than losing you. Promise me. Promise that all this talk of your duty isn’t an excuse to throw your life away.”

“Yesss,” he hissed, though whether it was in response to her demand or from the sensation of sliding inside her again wasn’t clear enough to Brienne.

“You promise?” she demanded, refusing to take part until she received enthusiastic agreement. They both knew where she’d learned that particular maneuver.

“Yes, I will do my best to stay alive, you mulish woman!”

She rolled her hips, eliciting a tortured groan of pleasure. “Good. That’s all I ask,” she said as they dove back into the realm of prophecy.

 


	62. Castle Black

Castle Black stood at the foot of the Wall, centrally located among the original castles of the Night’s Watch and now serving as their headquarters. Ancient and somber, it maintained a presence even with the Wall rising high above it. Most of its courtyards were currently buried in snow, but the main keep was still accessible. Tunnels ran underground connecting the keeps and major towers to spare the black brothers from the elements whenever possible.

The Dothraki and Stannis’ men encamped in and around the makeshift towns of the Gift until they knew where they would be needed. Only the leaders traveled north to meet with Lord Commander Tywin. Brienne was duty-bound to honor her word to spare Stannis, but forbearance had been easier when there were thousands of men between them. She found herself purposely seeking out Jaime for his distracting nonsense – desperate times indeed.

“Have you seen it up close before?” Brienne asked. She knew Jaime had traveled through some of the North with King Robert. The Wall had become visible over the horizon days ago, but as they drew nearer, its size started to feel mind-boggling. The Black Walls in Volantis were impressive at 200 feet tall, but even those formidable defenses would be dwarfed by the 700 foot tall structure before them. Made mostly of ice, the Wall glowed a queer blue under the full moon.

“No, Robert’s party stopped at Winterfell, enjoyed the Starks’ hospitality, and then turned back to King’s Landing. Only Tyrion accompanied Jon Snow to the Wall. If I recall correctly, his brilliant analysis concluded that the Wall is cold enough to freeze your balls off, so pissing off the top isn’t worth it, and the Mole’s Town whorehouse is overpriced.”

Brienne snorted. “Leave it to Tyrion to tell us more about himself than the Wall.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jaime asked.

“Especially if it holds, yes.”

“True, but I meant the glow. It’s coming from the moon. The full moon.”

“Mmm.”

Jaime couldn’t tell whether she was being coy or not picking up on his hinted question. He decided to spell it out. “By this time, haven’t you usually started…”

“Oh! Yes. My moon’s blood is late,” she said.

“Did I notice before you did?” he asked laughing.

“No!” she lied.

“I did! Ha! Let’s hear no more about how you’re a better tracker than me. You missed signs in your own body.”

“Well… how many times have you walked around with a stiff cock and not noticed?”

“Never; I just pretend not to. It’s funny to see you dancing around to stand in front of me. And it’s always your fault anyway. Nice to know you’re often looking.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Pretty sure it was.”

They continued their bickering as they set up camp for the night, tensions with Stannis and worries about meeting with Tywin forgotten. Thanks the gods for nonsense.

 

Lord Commander Tywin had not changed much since forsaking his family name, Jaime thought. The main difference being that he now dressed in black wool and furs instead of fine garments dyed scarlet and lined with cloth of gold. His mind seemed every bit as sharp and his mien as commanding as before. Jaime set aside any hopes that his time here had moderated his views.

“Father, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Brienne Lannister. I’m so pleased you are finally able to meet.” Jaime sounded anything but pleased, his tone a warning to remain civil.

Brienne nodded a small bow. To Jaime’s surprise, Tywin also bowed and kissed Brienne’s hand. “My pleasure, Lady Brienne. I admit I never imagined greeting a gooddaughter who wore white armor, but you seem strangely appropriate for Jaime. I understand I already have a grandchild.”

“Yes,” she replied, always more shy when facing courtly manners than hostility.

“Good, good. I pray you’ll both survive this journey such that there can be more.” Tywin threw a sharp glare to Jaime.

“Of course you already know Lord Stannis,” Jaime continued. “He has something to say.”

Stannis knelt before Tywin. He had to avert his eyes from Tywin’s face in order to force the words out. “I’ve come to ask to take the Black. I want to dedicate the remainder of my life to protecting the realms. I understand this means I set aside all royal titles and family ties.” By the end he was practically spitting the words, but they were said.

“I see. The Night’s Watch will gladly welcome you to our ranks,” Tywin said, his mind already calculating how best to use Stannis.

“I bring with me a thousand trained and battle-hardened soldiers. They are willing to follow the orders of the Watch but would like their service to be temporary.”

“We can accommodate that,” Tywin said. This was such unexpected good fortune that he almost suspected a trap. “Do your men understand that while here they will obey only the commands of the Night’s Watch and not yours?”

Stannis bristled at this slight against his honor. “I will ensure it is so. As your newest brother I would not presume myself entitled to command others.” Jaime wondered how long would pass before Stannis began scheming to become the next Lord Commander.

He spoke up, “Lord Stannis’ soldiers are encamped on the Gift along with Brienne’s 9,000 Dothraki. They, of course, also want to maintain their independence but are always up for a good fight.”

“Dothraki?” Tywin asked, his piercing gaze snapping back to Brienne.

She nodded but found herself mute of explanations that weren’t unseemly boastful.

“She defeated their leader and his lieutenants single-handedly which won her the allegiance of the entire khalasar,” Jaime said his smile broadening as Tywin’s shock grew. “See, she really is perfect for me.”

 

Stewards arrived to show the guests to their rooms and familiarize them with the general layout of the castle. Tywin called Jaime back, however.

“Why must you be so willful? The situation is well in hand. I don’t need you and your wife up here sowing chaos. Shouldn’t you be guarding your new queen in any event? You renounced your title for the position, after all.”

“Queen Margaery allowed us time to bury our dead. During our grieving, we discovered a dire threat to the realm. It would have been quite irresponsible of us not to investigate. Scandalous really that the Crown knew nothing about the severity of the threat from beyond the Wall.” Even now, Jaime would not outright accuse his father of treason, but he was still waiting for an explanation that made any sense.

“Perhaps I feared the worst if any resources were drawn away from protecting your sister and nephew. I suppose it made no difference,” Tywin snarled.

“We held the city against three dragons while we were outnumbered ten to one!”

“At the cost of your sister and her son! Now you’ve come to throw your own life away in some kind of penance. Let me tell you, it will accomplish nothing. If you want to make up for the deaths in the family, then _live_. Carry on the line. That’s all that’s important in the end.”

In that moment, Jaime could comprehend something about his father’s twisted version of love. He’d never stopping grieving over Joanna’s death and had walled off the part within himself that embraced tender feelings. He allowed only a protectiveness bordering on greed about his lineage and fought viciously against any threats to it.

“If we don’t win here then no one lives, Father.”

“Tarth is an island; the wights can’t cross open water. The bay won’t freeze that far south.” Tywin’s cold response showed that, far from ignoring the issue, he’d given it a lot of thought.

“Father. Allowing the Others to take the continent is not an option.”

“They won’t break through. The Wall will hold. But, having you nearer to Tarth was a comfort to me.”

“My wife is very stubborn. She made me promise I wouldn’t die needlessly. I’ve not broken a vow to her yet.”

Tywin turned from Jaime, disappointment plain on his face. “The Watch thanks you for the soldiers. You are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of Castle Black while you prepare your report for the queen. Then leave,” Tywin said.

“Thank you, Father,” Jaime said. “Lord Lannister and his wife are well, by the way,” he added.

Tywin waved off the mention of Tyrion with a scowl. “At least he had the sense to keep his wife away from danger,” he said.

Jaime took his leave before Tywin could notice how deeply that barb had dug into his spirit.

 

“Yer a fine looking woman for a southerner.”

Brienne’s head snapped up, ready to bark at the intruder for the slight against her appearance. She saw a tall and broad-shouldered wilding with a shaggy red beard and an unmistakeable leer in his eyes. Her brain managed to inform her that he’d said nothing insulting before she opened her mouth to reply.

“I prefer to be considered a warrior, not a romantic conquest,” she said. She hardened her gaze to discourage any thoughts of stealing her away as she’d heard was custom beyond the Wall.

If anything, however, the wildling seemed more interested. He let out a pleased growl and leaned forward into her space. “Strong. A woman who knows what she wants. You’d do well among my people. Tormund Giantsbane, chief of the Free Folk.” He extended his arm in greeting.

Brienne clasped onto his meaty forearm, releasing her grip as quickly as was polite. “Brienne Lannister. My _husband_ and I arrived today, bringing a small army to join the fight against the Others.”

His face grew more serious. “Aye? I hope they can fight without fear. Nothing will prepare you for seeing a foe get an arm hacked off and keep coming.”

Brienne had heard such tales and hoped they were exaggerations. “Is it true some can raise the dead?”

“I’ve seen it myself. Some of my own people are out there, their souls replaced with cold, blue fire. If they get past the Wall, the whole lot of us may end up that way.”

“Do you think the Wall will hold?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Free folk can climb over it. With their kinds of numbers, I don’t see what’s holding them back. You should go up and see for yourself.”

“Indeed. My _husband_ and I will make it a priority.”

An evaluating expression crossed Tormund’s face. “Your husband, could he take me?”

“With one hand,” Brienne gruffly replied. A beat later, remembering she was supposed to be diplomatic, she continued, “but let’s all try to stay friends. We don’t want anyone injured when it’s time to face the Others.”

To that, Tormund had to reluctantly agree.

 

The cage creaked ominously as Brienne and Jaime rode it to the top of the Wall.

“For the record, if we plunge to our deaths, this was your idea,” he said.

“We could have taken the stairs.”

“You’re in a delicate state. You can’t climb hundreds of stairs in armor.” The rickety switchback of stairs snaking up the face of the Wall looked exhausting even to Jaime.

“So, technically, the cage was your idea,” she insisted, “and I’m barely delicate at all yet. You can’t let that change anything.”

“Mmm hmm,” he said, preparing to treat that statement with the blatant disregard it deserved.

“I’m serious. You won’t be living up to your promise if you’re thinking more about me than keeping your mind alert for threats on the battlefield.”

“Have it your way,” he grumbled. Gods, he hated vows. How had she tricked him into making another one?

The ride in the cage took nearly ten minutes, plenty of time for second thoughts. At the top, a steward opened the door and ushered them out. The Wall was at least the width of the Kingsroad, but Brienne was still glad that it was lined with crushed stone and featured many ramparts. The raw exposure of being at such a lofty summit with nothing but a sheer drop on either side left her breathless.

“Ready to see them?” Jaime asked. He looked a little green himself.

She nodded, and they peered down the Wall’s northern side. Involuntarily, Brienne took a step backward and gripped tightly to Jaime’s arm. She couldn’t make out any details about the features of the Others (though Tormund had assured her they were horrifying), but the size of the force gathered below was far greater than any she had seen before. Some stood stock-still, some milled around like ants in an upturned anthill. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands.

“We have to do something,” she said. “They can’t be swarming there for no reason.”

“Yes,” Jaime replied. He sounded numb, though perhaps that was only her ears.

“There could never be enough arrows or men with effective weapons.”

“No. It’ll have to be firebombs. Wildfire… or Jon Snow’s dragons.”

“I expected he would beat us here. I hope nothing has happened,” she said.

“Me too, sweet wench.” He put an arm around her shoulders, sharing warmth and reassurance. “Shall we take the stairs down?”

 

Within the next few days, the new fighters started to be absorbed within the forces of the Night’s Watch. Stannis’ soldiers could all be housed within Castle Black, which suited them well. Several score followed Stannis’ lead and took the Black to become official brothers. Tywin administered their oath in front of the blazing hearth in the Shieldhall where the walls were decorated with the shields of hundreds of noble houses who’d given brothers to the Watch. Stannis' flaming heart joined their ranks, its sigil never to be seen in battle again.

The Dothraki also migrated north, spreading out within the shadow of the Wall to camp and hunt. They were, therefore, the first to see Jon Snow when he finally arrived, flying on Rhaegal’s back with Drogon following behind. They cheered to see the dragons in flight again. Even if they did not entirely understand the strange web of alliances here, they knew it was best to be on the side of the dragons.

Tywin welcomed Jon back into the service of the Night’s Watch as if there had been no power shift with the arrival of the dragons. Rhaegal and Drogon immediately made themselves at home in a collapsed tower.

“The beasts obey you?” Tywin asked curtly, refusing to be intimidated.

“They have minds of their own to be sure, but I get along well enough with the green one, and the black one tends to follow us around.”

“Is there any news?” Brienne asked. “We were growing concerned at your delay.”

Jon chuckled. “Well, of a sort. Seems that Rhaegal there laid herself a clutch of eggs. She didn’t want to leave ‘em until we found a way to keep ‘em warm. Luckily, Winterfell has those hot springs, and she seemed to think that was sufficient.”

Brienne gasped in astonishment. “How many? And how long before they hatch.”

“Five, and I have no idea, my lady. I can only trust Rhaegal’s instincts that she can leave them for a time.”

With a more serious expression, Brienne told him, “We saw the Others. We went to the top of the Wall and watched them gathering. They are countless already with more still coming. I’ve never seen a force with such numbers.”

“If they want to group together, that’s fine with me,” Jon said. “Me and the dragons will light them up like dry tinder. If enough burn, perhaps the rest will fade away.” No one truly seemed to think it would be that easy, but doing something felt more satisfying than waiting for the Others to finish coordinating their attack.

 

Jon’s first strafing run with the dragons provided a turning point in the conflict, but not in the way any of the living would have desired. Jaime and Brienne watched from the top of the Wall as he rode Rhaegal overhead and then dove sharply to lay down a line of flame onto the wights gathered below. Drogon did the same, flying west as Rhaegal flew east. Hundreds of Others ignited, and for a time, the operation seemed a great success.

Those watching saw a distinctive wight separate itself from the rest. He drew something from a sheath on his back and took careful aim. No one expected that a dragon could possibly be harmed by a weapon hurled by hand. Yet somehow, this javelin penetrated Drogon’s hide and seemed to seek out his heart. He thrashed and fought against the pain, but no living being, not even a dragon, can hold off death forever. With his heart destroyed, his brain soon forgot how to coordinate his wings. He crashed lifeless onto the solid ice north of the Wall.

His existence did not end there, unfortunately. The Night’s King could raise more than men to a state of unlife. Drogon’s eyes opened again, now bright blue. He soon took to the air carrying a new master. Jon marshaled his courage and tried to attack them with Rhaegal, but broke away when he saw the Night’s King readying another icy javelin.

Undead Drogon flew close to the Wall just west of Castle Black and attacked it with his now blue fiery breath. For the first time in 8,000 years, a section of the Wall began to crumble.

 


	63. Beyond the Wall

Icequakes from the collapsing section of the Wall shook the area where Brienne and Jaime stood.

“We have to get down now!” Jaime yelled. The winch cage would take too much time, so they pounded down the shaking stairway, braced for a fatal slide. Not two minutes after they ran out onto ground level, the entire assembly – stairs, cage, warming shack and all – sheared away from the Wall and plunged to the ground, an unidentifiable wreck.

They sprinted through Castle Black, emerging to find the battle already underway. Wights poured from the ever-broadening gap in the Wall to meet a mixed force of black brothers, wildlings, armored knights, and Dothraki.

The Others were every bit as horrifying as Tormund had said. They only resembled people at first glance. Any closer inspection revealed gaping holes in their flesh and loose skin sloughing off their bones. Most were dressed in the furs of wildlings, but some wore the distinctive cloaks of the Night’s Watch. The creatures were nothing more than animated corpses, but there were so very, very many of them.

All allies of the living fought fiercely against the Others. The Dothraki, in particular, rode circles around them, reaping off their heads like wheat. Disconcertingly, the headless bodies still moved, but were much less of a threat. Archers from the Night’s Watch and Stannis’ army fired volleys of dragonglass arrows into the breach. Whenever a wight was struck by one, its body would freeze and slowly shatter. Still, there had not been time to craft more than a small percentage of the arrows needed to stem the tide.

Jon Snow sat astride a sturdy northern horse surveying the battle. He found what he was looking for when a Dothraki’s steel arakh shattered upon attacking a foe. The Dothraki threw his useless weapon aside and tackled the White Walker from horseback. These Others, taller and better preserved than regular wights, would quickly come to be the most dreaded foes on the battlefield. They exuded an aura of cold and could not be harmed by regular weapons.

Wielding his Valyrian steel bastard sword, Longclaw, Jon charged towards the White Walker. He let out a war cry and buried his sword into its chest. The monster seemed to realize its fate just before it exploded into a shower of icy shards. Jon pulled the Dothraki back onto his feet. He gave Jon a companionable shove before plundering a weapon from a fallen ally and jumping back into the fight.

Brienne and Jaime fought their way to Jon’s side. Wights fell to pieces before them from the barest cut of their Valyrian steel swords. However, they knew they could not possibly defeat enough of them in hand to hand combat to make a difference. One of the creatures was bound to get in a lucky blow eventually, or they could be overborne and trampled underfoot.

“The one that killed Drogon is on the other side of the Wall,” Brienne told Jon. “He might be their leader. If you can use Rhaegal to clear the way, Jaime and I both have weapons that can hurt him.”

Jon looked her over. Even though she was a member of the Kingsguard, fully armored and wielding Valyrian steel, he still hesitated.

“What are you waiting for? Move!” Jaime demanded.

“It’s my responsibility,” Jon said. “My idea to bring the dragons north; my dragon that brought down the Wall. I don’t have any business sending knights to their deaths over my mistake.” In his mournful eyes, Jaime saw the familiar pain of a man unable to repair a grave error.

“You’ll have to save your penance for later. Surely you see you can’t defeat all the White Walkers on your own. Take any help you can get right now,” Jaime said. Without the dragon, they wouldn’t be able to reach the other side before the White Walkers began to refill their ranks by raising the dead. “We’ll keep each other safe. We’re good at it. Now go!” He employed his command voice, well honed to cause soldiers to obey without question.

Jon went, leaping onto Rhaegal’s back with a new sense of purpose. Rhaegal needed little coaxing to let forth a gout of flame into ranks of the undead advancing through the Wall. The heat and force of the blast incinerated all Others within its cone of destruction. Briefly, there was a break in the advance of the enemy. Brienne and Jaime charged in, running through to the northern side of the Wall.

 

The wights hung back, giving the breach in the Wall a wide berth until the ground stopped smoldering. Jaime and Brienne therefore had a moment to evaluate the scene on the other side before diving into battle. The closest White Walker did not even have time to ready his icy sword before he’d been shattered into a million pieces by twin blades of Valyrian steel.

Jaime had not misled Jon in the slightest. He and Brienne fought like two parts of the same whole. Their blows rose and fell in such perfect harmony – one covering while the other attacked – that he felt like he had four arms and two sets of eyes. Jaime always said that he felt truly alive only while fighting or making love. He’d somehow found a woman who understood and appreciated both.

Another White Walker loomed before them. A head taller than even Brienne, his grey-white skin was fully uncovered. Like Gregor Clegane, he wielded a greatsword in one hand. With the other, he drew an icy spear from his back. He roared to the wights nearby in a voice that sounded like cracking ice. He then stepped forward to attack Jaime with the sword and Brienne with the spear. The surrounding wights closed in on their flanks.

Jaime parried the sword strike, but staggered under the strength of the blow. He could not force the Walker’s sword to one side to open an opportunity for Brienne to counterattack. She brought her sword around in a wide slash, killing several of the wights but was blocked from making contact with the Walker by his spear. He forced the knights to give ground to avoid another series of his attacks and roared for further reinforcements.

“To his back,” Jaime said. “He can’t block what he can’t see.”

Brienne wasn’t so sure as she slipped to the creature’s side to position herself for a rear attack. His spear followed her the entire way as if he were sensing her through supernatural means.

Jaime burst forth with an all-out series of blows that even the Walker’s monstrous strength couldn’t hold back with only the sword. He brought the spear forward and low, clearly intending to sweep Jaime off his feet so that he could be mobbed by the wights closing in on both sides.

Brienne smashed Oathkeeper into the back of the Walker’s skull. It plunged all the way through his head, briefly embedding itself into his upper torso before he shattered from the Valyrian enchantments. She moved to recenter her sword for defense but paused as she saw all the wights around them drop.

Brienne and Jaime shared a confused glance. Dozens of wights, some not even involved in the battle, had collapsed.  
“Do you think he was their master?” Jaime asked.

“The one that raised them perhaps… and when their Walker died, they did as well.” Brienne’s battle scowl turned into a smile, hope dawning in her eyes. If they only had to defeat the White Walkers, this battle might just be winnable.

A torrent of blue fire cut between them. Their actions had attracted the attention of Night King and his draconic steed.

They dove in opposite directions to escape the flames.

 

Brienne rolled closer to the Wall, swiftly regaining her feet so as not to be overwhelmed. She brought Oathkeeper around in wild, sweeping arcs to drive back the wights nearby. She heard Jaime taunting the Night King and felt panic stab her heart. How many times had she joked that his mouth would be the death of him? Now he seemed determined to prove her correct.

“What’s the matter, Frostface? You can’t hit one knight when you’ve got a whole dragon? I’ve seen them take out armies. You are _bad_ at this,” he sneered.

Brienne fought frantically to get back to Jaime’s side. She paid little attention to what she cut down until a familiar kraken insignia brought her up short. _These were once Ironborn,_ she realized. She slowed her pace to more closely examine the faces nearby. She hoped she wouldn’t see her friend Yara or any of her crew but was determined to give them peace if she did.

Brienne barely had time to recognize that the Ironborn wights were missing their tongues before a huge fist slammed into her head. Euron Greyjoy’s eyes were as blue and lifeless as the rest of the Others, but he seemed to be fueled by an extra dose of hatred. Brienne would have died instantly without her helm; even so, she saw stars. She staggered to one knee, holding onto Oathkeeper for dear life.

Jaime knew what he was doing. He had come up from his rolling dive near the tree line and felt confident he could find cover from any missile weapons or fiery breath the dragon-riding Walker could throw at him. Brienne, on the other hand, was exposed and surrounded. It was only rational that he try to draw attention from her.

Both Brienne and Tywin had accused him of trying to throw his life away, implying that he did not want to live without Cersei. Nothing could be further from the truth; he was at long last fighting for the life he wanted to lead. He realized he’d spent too long as a passive observer, looking away from things he didn’t want to see and telling himself he was powerless to change them. He was not powerless here. Here, he was in his element.

“Come on, you cowardly hunk of ice. Face me! Would it help if I stood still? Fought with my left hand? You’re not even a challenge. Stannis Baratheon has more personality than you.” All the while, Jaime kept constantly weaving through the trees, moving unpredictably to make himself a difficult target. He’d led the Night King some distance away from Brienne now, with the unfortunate side-effect that he’d lost sight of her, too. She would fight her way through, he had to believe. After all, surely the corollary to the promise she’d drawn from him was that she would keep herself alive as well.

Brienne burst from her crouch with the undulating war cry she usually saved for leading her Dothraki. Using nothing but raw, brute strength, she drove Oathkeeper through undead Euron’s steel breastplate and buried it into his chest. He crumbled away, the Valyrian steel continuing to work its magic. Other former Ironborn surged into his place, but she’d gotten her second wind now. Her sword sang as it sliced through their tattered leather armor, bringing her closer to Jaime once again.

She could see that the undead dragon was forced to shuffle its way along the ground, trying to home in on Jaime who, true to form, would not shut up. She cried out again to encourage herself to go faster and was surprised to hear answering cries from the direction of the breach. Allies were starting to move through the Wall and take up position on the northern side. They seemed to have stemmed the tide of undead for the moment. Soon, she understood how. Rhaegal, with Jon on her back, flew through the gap to blast another gathering of wights.

Abandoning the pursuit of Jaime, Drogon and the Night King took to the air against Rhaegal. The dragons clashed with vicious claws and teeth ripping into anything they could reach. They chased each other higher and higher, eventually disappearing into the clouds where Brienne could not follow the action. She could see occasional jets of orange or blue flame illuminating the sky, but nothing to indicate who might be winning. Finally, a sword glowing red hot fell from the sky, landing near the Wall. Rhaegal flew away, headed due south at high speed. Drogon spiraled back down, with one wing injured but his rider intact.

Drogon landed among the soldiers who had moved north through the Wall, brutally smashing them aside with his tail and claws. Their bodies crunched and twisted on impact. As terrifying as the wights had been, the undead dragon was a different class of foe altogether. Dragonglass arrows bounced off his thick hide, and steel weapons shattered on impact. Drogon plowed through the footsoldiers unimpeded. The mounted knights and Dothraki could only maneuver to stay out of his way.

 

Stannis took a moment to pray for forgiveness. He wished that his heart had remained pure, but he must confess to moments of doubt. After his army had been devastated on the Blackwater, he fled north in desperation. He slowly built alliances in the area, but never trusted that he had enough men to challenge for the Iron Throne again. Melisandre had left, saying the Lord of Light now called her to serve at Winterfell; even Davos had fallen away in the end. Stannis finally saw the true path, though. He would soon have his due. The flaming sword had plunged out of the sky, landing practically at his feet. What could it be but the legendary Lightbringer provided to him in his hour of need so that he might slay the Night King?

Stannis took his grip on the strangely proportioned sword, more a bastard sword than the greatsword he expected, advancing on the undead dragon and its dreadful rider. He strode in close, unnoticed for a time as the Night King paused to raise the dead soldiers that were his former enemies to his side. The men, a mixed assortment of fighters from different armies gradually twitched into a form of unlife. 

Stannis slashed his Lightbringer across the chest of the dragon, drawing a furious roar. He ran closer, seeking to avoid the dragon’s attacks by being too near for it to strike at him with full strength. Drogon reared up to give himself more room to maneuver and opened his mouth, ready to vaporize the attacking human with blue flame.

Stannis ran underneath the dragon’s chest, using its own massive body as a shield. Drogon thrashed blindly, trying to move backwards on his hind legs without unbalancing the Night King still perched on his back. Unable to find Stannis, he fell again on all fours, assuming the human had fled. Stannis, however, maintained pace with the dragon. He was still underneath when Drogon’s bulk came down. Though he did not live long under the crushing weight, his last sight was a worthy one: Drogon’s body, pierced by Valyrian steel, shattering away.

 

The Night King’s face showed no astonishment as his mount dissolved beneath him. To his plans, the dragon no long mattered. He and his White Walkers could easily rebuild the army from the human materials so readily available. He had only to silence the swords of the warriors who could kill his Walkers, and the Forever Night could officially begin.

Brienne and Jaime shared a fervent embrace after finding one another on the chaotic battlefield. They each put forth a strategic argument best summed up as ‘you are absolutely not allowed to charge that dragon.’ When the dragon suddenly vanished, they stood nonplussed for half a moment, then dashed forward with no further discussion.

Up close, the Night King was plainly kin to White Walkers, but also something more. He was taller than the rest and, though lacking white hair or beard, also seemed more ancient. Spikes growing from his skull made the form of a crown. He wielded a greatsword made from ice and stepped toward the knights with conscious malice in his shining blue eyes.

Brienne and Jaime met him in battle without hesitation. They attempted to coordinate their attacks but soon found that their usual lethal effectiveness was hampered. The Night King’s aura of cold extended far from his body, making the air feel thick and weapons heavy. Swinging a sword at him meant fighting against freezing muscles and burning skin.

Jaime kept up his patter of distracting insults. Perhaps the barbs had some effect because, while still showing no emotion, the Night King attacked him first. His sword hit Jaime’s with a crash Jaime felt all the way down to his hips. He struggled to stay upright against the huge Walker’s inhuman strength. Simultaneously, the King could also side-step Brienne’s attacks, unaffected by the extreme cold that slowed her strikes and caused her to miss clean. She burned with humiliation, flashing back to her early days in the training yard with Ser Goodwin as he laughed at the young girl who thought she could learn to use a sword.

After a suspended period of struggle, the Night King kicked out at Jaime, ready to be done with the noisy pest. Jaime’s injured leg buckled, and his world turned white with pain. He fell onto his face in the snow, desperate attempts to rise overridden by his body’s agony.

The Night King now turned to face Brienne, though he reached one long arm toward Jaime. Whether he intended to freeze and then shatter him or resurrect him to fight against the living, Brienne did not care to find out. She dropped her shoulder and ran at the King, colliding with his chest and spinning him half a turn from Jaime. She felt the intense cold biting into her skin through three layers of armor. She leapt back a step, readying Oathkeeper to engage the monster.

Strike after strike, both attempted to land the blow that would finish the battle. Neither bothered much with defense, finding that all-out attacks were the best way to meet the other’s aggression. Brienne channeled all her past frustrations and grief into knocking back blows whose force threatened to dislocate her shoulder. The Night King’s eyes blazed with hatred; never before had a pair of humans given him such difficulty. The battle was approaching its end, however. The woman would soon weaken and freeze, while he was eternal.

Jaime’s eyes slitted open against the pain. He could hear Brienne’s grunts, frighteningly labored and frantic. The King came for her with two-handed overhead swings so brutal that Jaime was surprised even Oathkeeper didn’t shatter. She struck back with nigh equal ferocity. _That’s my girl,_ Jaime grinned, forcing his mind onto her and away from his body’s urgent protests against moving. The leg would hold his weight; it was not re-broken. That was all he needed.

The Night King’s attention was fully focused on Brienne. As if slaying Aerys was mere rehearsal, Jaime crept behind the ultimate Other. He knew he would have only one chance at surprise, so he waited until the King was fully extended in attack. Then, he thrust Widow’s Wail into his back up to the hilt. There was no blood this time, only an almost living sense of cold that flowed down his sword. Its Valyrian steel steamed as its enchantments fought against the ancient magic that had given life to a being that never should have walked the earth. The sword triumphed, and the King emitted an unearthly cry no human throat could reproduce. Jaime didn’t give him any opportunity for final words. He brought his sword to the Night King’s neck and sliced, silencing the horrible shriek once and for all.

Brienne and Jaime fell into each other’s arms. Around them, wights and White Walkers de-animated in a rapidly expanding circle. The Wall had fallen, but the living had won the war.


	64. Winterfell II/King's Landing XXIX - Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little grace note chapter to set up the ending. If there’s anything you want to make sure I cover in the approaching farewell, just let me know.

**Winterfell**  
The triumphant army of the living marched south down the Kingsroad away from the Castle Black. Only the brothers of the Night’s Watch remained to take stock of the damage and confront the existential crisis of whether the Watch still had a purpose.

There was no missing that the journey south went far easier than the trek north. The blizzards ceased, and temperatures rose above freezing. By the time they reached Winterfell, many had discarded their thick fur cloaks and taken to hunting in the woods. The game were easy pickings, slow and addled from hibernation.

Jaime and Brienne grew unsure of the reception the army could anticipate. If Jon Snow had died fighting against the Night King, even the resultant victory may not be enough to earn them welcome.

They needn’t have worried. Riders greeted them with invitations to meet with Jon and logistical suggestions about how the large force could make themselves comfortable within the grounds of the castle.

The knights knelt before the dragon-riding bastard of Winterfell. He wasn't truly a lord, but diplomatic courtesies were necessary when asking for hospitality. “My lord,” Jaime said, “we found this underneath the shattered body of Drogon. I believe it belongs to you.” He unwrapped Longclaw. The decorations on its hilt were melted and unidentifiable, but the Valyrian steel itself was whole and as deadly as ever.

Jon regarded the sword with a rueful smile. “Give it to Lyanna Mormont. It's hers by right. I've left the Night's Watch behind, so I no longer have a claim on the blade.”

Jaime re-wrapped the sword in confusion. _How does one leave the Night's Watch?_ “Much occurred on the battlefield after you departed. Would you like a report?”

“There’s no need,” Jon replied. “Melisandre made known all she saw in the flames before she tended to me.”

Brienne’s mouth twisted into an epic scowl. “I’ve never found the witch particularly trustworthy.”

“There’s no call to speak ill of the dead,” Jon said softly.

The heads of both knights snapped up, startled.

Jon nodded. “I burned in the battle with Drogon. Burned too badly to live. I was likely dead before Rhaegal and I arrived at Winterfell. They say Melisandre stayed with me all night. In the morning, she had taken on all the burns and lay dead. I breathed again and have not so much as a scar.”

“Why… I mean, if she knew the battle was over…” Brienne mused aloud.

“She never felt the need to explain herself to anyone. It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times since. I don’t rightly know what my place is now. I gave one life to the Night’s Watch, and that’s done. I’m no lord. I’m not even sure I’m properly alive.”

Brienne said, “Melisandre once told me that dragons were creatures of the Lord of Light. Rhaegal and her eggs are here, with you. Perhaps you’re meant to be the father of dragons. Your purpose may lie in helping them re-enter the world.”

Jon ran his fingers through his thick hair, which did not seem to have suffered from the flames. “I’m not remotely suited to that task.”

Brienne reflexively rubbed her belly. “I’m fairly sure I said the same thing once. Forget the words of the Starks. Winter is over. Look to spring. Look to life.”

 

**King's Landing**  
Brienne and Jaime took a moment to prepare before presenting themselves to Queen Margaery. The journey from Winterfell had been pleasant and briskly paced as snow receded from the landscape and the Kingsroad broadened to its full width.

“You know everyone is going to ask once they see you out of armor. What shall we tell them about names?” Jaime asked, eyes sparkling fondly. Brienne was approaching the midpoint of her pregnancy in perfect health.

“I would like to name her after Cersei,” Brienne said. She waited nervously for Jaime’s response.

Jaime wasn’t wild about the idea, truth be told, but Bran Stark had been right so far. He therefore heeded his warning not to challenge her, merely asking, “You think it’s a girl?”

“I’m confident,” she said. Brienne wasn't yet willing to admit that she’d seen the birth in an evening’s campfire. As always, she hesitated to trust in prophecy, but how could that be wrong? (Little Lord Cerwyn, born five moons hence, would grow up hearing the story of how his mother foresaw his younger sister’s birth, much to her embarrassment).

Pages arrived to escort the Kingsguard knights to the royal audience chamber. They knelt and waited for the queen to speak.

“Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne, the Crown bids you a fond welcome home and offers our profound thanks for the service you performed for the Kingdoms. No one has ever asked so much of a pair of knights and had their expectations exceeded.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” they both replied.

“I would be willing to grant you a boon, if you would like to ask for one,” she hinted. She and Prince Consort Robin had discussed the matter at length, and as difficult as it would be, it seemed a just reward.

“Your Grace,” Jaime said, “we have fought long in service of the Crown and will always follow our oaths. If, however, we had our choice, we would retire to my lady’s ancestral estate on Tarth to raise our family. Our daughter is the heir to the title there, and she should grow up among her people.”

“I wondered if that might be your desire.” Margaery had also heard tales from Qyburn's little birds that Brienne’s belly was starting to round again. “So shall it be. The Crown will accept your resignation from the Kingsguard with the highest honors to be noted in the White Book. I believe I shall write them in my own hand, with your permission, Lord Commander.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“You may advise on the next knights to fill your positions. Not replacements, I should say. No one could replace either of you.” She descended from her throne to give each knight a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Arise as free knights then, released of your oaths and obligations to the Kingsguard.”

They stood, well-tended white armor making no sound. “Thank you, Your Grace. If you ever have need, we are at your beck and call,” Brienne said.

“There is one other matter. It seems that the Baratheon family is extinct in the male line, even down to the bastards.”

Jaime and Brienne exchanged glances to ensure they were still in agreement. Shireen Baratheon was thriving in Braavos. There was no reason to bring her into the difficult, tumultuous conditions of Westeros.

Margaery continued, “Therefore, I will need to appoint a new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. I believe House Tarth has served most nobly throughout the years, and the Evenstar should fill this role. Any objections?”

“No, thank you, Your Grace. My family is most honored.”

“Good. Well, you should make your preparations to depart, then. And Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne? Do enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.”

 


	65. Everywhere

**Essos**  
Under the command of Ser Jorah Mormont, slavery slowly, painfully ended throughout the former Valyrian strongholds of Essos. He sacrificed everything to accomplish this goal, never marrying again or even making a permanent home for himself. He refused every attempt to crown him king, saying that he did his work in honor of Queen Daenerys, the only person fit to be acknowledged as the land’s sovereign. In his later years, he developed the conviction that she would return from across the Narrow Sea to take up her throne. No one could convince him that she had died decades ago. Even as the final recalcitrant cities west of the Great Grass Sea joined the peaceful, prosperous Valyrian Union, he still looked to his homeland in hopes that his queen would return to reward him for his leal service. She never did.

**King’s Landing**  
Queen Margaery’s fourth marriage proved to be her last and her most successful by far. Though she and her husband, Prince Consort Robin Arryn, always seemed somewhat stilted together during public appearances, they had a surprisingly fecund marriage. Ten of Robin’s children apparently passed through the queen’s narrow hips. Gossips of the time shed some doubt on the matter as the children alternated in appearance from one to the next. Some had dark hair – almost Baratheon black – while others were more auburn, much like that of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk. All had the broad-shouldered build that Prince Robin lacked. He shrugged off doubts about paternity, blaming childhood illnesses for stunting his growth and claiming the auburn hair came from his Tully mother. The royal couple always went into seclusion together a few moons before each birth, which was enough evidence of a loving relationship for the smallfolk.

Queen Margaery had an extraordinarily long reign. Despite all the unrest in the land following years of war, there were no coups or attempts on her life. Some in the court floated rumors that the queen had her own counter-assassins to watch over such matters. Others believed that the people themselves protected their cherished “Little Queen” from any harm. Through whatever means, Margaery lived to celebrate her 100th nameday with massive feasts for the public. She would be remembered as kind-hearted and generous to the smallfolk, though those who knew her best could testify that she was willing to make shrewd bargains to consolidate her power. When her eldest son Eddard took the throne at age 73, only the oldest citizens of the realm had ever known anything but peace.

**The Vale**  
Despite being rich in resources and almost completely undamaged by war, the Vale fell into political disarray. Its major houses squabbled amongst themselves for leadership and could not maintain outside alliances. Some blamed the late lord Baelish for setting the houses into conflict, but most acknowledged that he merely stirred a pot that had long been simmering. The Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East, Robin Arryn, only sent occasional missives from King’s Landing offering vague guidance at best. While all the Lords of the Vale agreed that he’d grown into an able ruler, he seemed to hold little special regard for the land of his birth. Their in-fighting effectively neutralized the region’s power for generations.

**Castle Black**  
Lord Commander Tywin was the last guardian of the Wall but not the last Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He argued that the Watch should continue monitoring the Far North to ensure the Others did not return. The Crown, fearing that he intended to build an army to retake the Iron Throne for the Lannisters, denied this request. The remaining black brothers were pardoned of any previous crimes and invited to reintegrate into the realm.

Tywin and a few other true believers stayed, however, attempting to repair the breach in the Wall and keep guard. Over time, more joined – never a large number but always fanatically dedicated. After Bran Stark arrived, saying his guidance would be needed, the Night’s Watch evolved into a quasi-religious order focused on protecting the future. Their effects on world events remain shrouded in secrecy and layers of enigma. Lord Tywin died having seen the Night’s Watch deemed irrelevant and then repurposed into something new – a complicated legacy for a complicated man.

**Winterfell**  
Jon Snow rebuilt Winterfell, using its expansive, isolated inner grounds as territory for the next generation of dragons. Within a year, Queen Margaery sent him a decree informing him that his name was now Jon Stark and he was Lord of Winterfell. She had grown tired of the Northern people grousing that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. By this time, Bran had already told him of his true origins. He was more properly named Aegon Targaryen and could legitimately challenge for the throne. It held no interest for him, however. The only part of his Targaryen heritage he embraced was the affinity for dragons. He never married, naming Sansa’s second son his heir. His true children were his dragons, and he tended to their welfare with the attention of a strict but loving father.

**Pyke**  
Well into her reign, Queen Yara finally brought forth an heir for the Iron Islands. She never officially married – not even a salt husband – but decreed her son would be a Greyjoy rather than a Pyke because she said so. She sent a letter not fit for printing in history texts to Brienne of Tarth excoriating her for not warning about the pain. (A brief sample: “You’ve had enough of the fuckers, why didn’t you say how much it fucking hurts?”) She also informed her the babe was called Brion, explaining in her offhand way, “I’m still pissed at you, but we need some new names up here and everyone likes you fine.” Why she seemed to blame Brienne for her pregnancy is a matter of some historical debate.

In their own way, the Iron Islands eventually conquered the rest of the realm. Their strange system of periodically electing a new leader gradually took hold in the other kingdoms, transforming into the democracy known today. Ironborn of the time objected to the procedural changes, saying that rules about regular cycles for elections and the banning of bribery took all the fun out of it.

**Casterly Rock**  
The smallfolk of the Westerlands soon concluded that Lord Tyrion Lannister took more after his grandfather Tytos, the Laughing Lion, than his father. However, at Tyrion’s side stood a wife with eyes of steel and a practical Northern nature who had no sense of humor about mockery. They balanced one another well. Tyrion would plan lavish public celebrations, and Sansa would pare them back to something reasonable. The only ones she allowed to go over the top were those in honor of their children’s birth, which amounted to a fair number. Most of the children were auburn-haired; a few were dwarves. Their lives may have been harder than those of the taller Lannisters, but with the love of their parents and siblings, they also made their place in the world.

**Riverrun**  
Edmure Tully proved to be an almost comically inept lord of the Riverlands. In the early years, this indirectly served to maintain peace between the Stark-Lannister union in the northwest and the Tyrell control of the Reach and Crownlands. A more cunning man may have attempted to knit an alliance with the neglected Lords of the Vale or reached out to the always aggrieved Dornish. He did nothing of the sort, assuming that so long as he maintained his father’s borders, he was doing well. He spent the family fortune dry trying to endear himself to the smallfolk, but they could never see past his Frey wife and the stain of that family's treachery. He eventually became so in debt to Casterly Rock, via loans from his niece Sansa, that he was largely their vassal. Tyrion and Sansa had no appetite for war with Queen Margaery, so the opportunity passed and the Crown rebuilt its strength.

**Highgarden**  
With the Iron Throne in the hands of the Tyrell family, Highgarden became a center for fashion, culture, and the arts. The Tyrells enjoyed this new status and sought to expand on it. They established the first school dedicated to training painters, musicians, and actors in the nearby town of Goldengrove. The school chose its students using the radical notion of merit-based admission without consideration of social status, kingdom of birth, or gender. This ushered in the period of achievement known as the Great Spring which will probably never be equaled for artistic innovation and accomplishment.

Lady Olenna lived to see her 102nd nameday, guiding the family well all those years. As the grand-dame of the Reach, she never held back her opinion on issues in the region. She was especially proud of quieting dissension regarding Lords Podrick Payne and Dickon Tarly of Horn Hill and their children's legitimacy. Their girls were lovely maids, orphans they’d adopted after the wars. Olenna arranged noble marriages for them, deaf to any objections about their fathers. Her granddaughter may have become queen, and her grandson Willas the new Lord of Highgarden, but Loras had always been her favorite.

**Dorne**  
Prince Doran’s life was long, and its end was full of pain. Still, in one sense he died happy, having received news that Tywin Lannister predeceased him. His daughter Arianne carried on the family name and its tradition of developing elaborate plots against real and imagined enemies, then botching them right at the finish line.

**Tarth**  
Brienne and Jaime retired to Evenfall Hall on Tarth, a quiet place in an ideal climate. The Sapphire Isle soon also became known as the isle of tall, blonde children. There is evidence that their union was so fruitful the genetic makeup of the area changed forever. (The island’s small initial population and perhaps relaxed norms about close cousin marriages were also contributing factors). ‘Tall as a Tarthan’ is not just a saying. Studies have shown that the height of people with significant Tarth ancestry averages a full two centimeters above realm standard.

Tarth has, of course, grown significantly since becoming the capital of the Stormlands and a major port of trade for Essos. Evenfall Hall remains much the same, however. To this day, two suits of nearly identical white armor stand side by side on display there. Legend has it that if the realm were ever truly in need, they would again be donned by the truest knights to ever roam the kingdoms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t thank my readers enough for the huge amount of support I received along the way. Writing for so long on a regular schedule took a lot of effort, and I couldn’t have done it without people cheering me on. Thank you for every bookmark, kudo and comment; they really do make a difference. 
> 
> Drop me a note if there’s anything you want to discuss. I love this story and am always happy to chat about it. Having such kind and generous readers has made writing it a pleasure.
> 
> **FAQs from the Comments:**  
>  There were a couple of points worth clearing up from the last chapter that I thought I'd pull out of the comments. 
> 
> _What's up with Margaery and Robin's family?_  
>  Robin Arryn is Arya Stark (she’s been impersonating him since he died after the Tansy chapter). Because I assume the faceless man thing only changes appearances (if you get my drift), she can’t sire children. But, as Margaery’s marriage with Renly showed, she’s fine with whatever so long as it strengthens her power as queen. So, Margaery & Arya have a platonic relationship but each take lovers and bear them children. Margaery & Ser Arryk’s are auburn haired and Arya and Gendry’s are black haired.
> 
> _Why does Yara blame Brienne for her pregnancy?_  
>  What I was trying to imply happened with Yara (because I love her very dearly & want her to be happy :) was that she finally managed to seduce Brienne... and where Brienne goes, Jaime goes (ahem). Yara blames Brienne for the lust that made her incautious because she’s not super-big on personal responsibility.


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